


Meet Me At The Finish Line

by clottedcreamfudge



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Biting, Can’t believe I nearly forgot to add that tag, Catra is working on herself, Disaster Lesbians, Don’t worry I already hate myself, Entrapta and Hordak are lab partners, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fast & Bi-Furious was the working title, Friendship is Magic, Frosta is a less sparkly rage monster, Glimmer is a sparkly rage monster, He has a bionic arm and she’s into it, I was so proud but they’re both lesbians so it was useless, Let’s go to the BEACH BEACH, Mechanic Adora, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Rated E for Ee-by-gum that’s a lot of sex, Scorpia (She-Ra) is a Good Friend, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Street Racing, Street racer Catra, Useless Lesbians, Yearning, catra gets therapy, catradora, crop tops, don’t @ me, drag racing, i took so many liberties, it’s all about the yearning, let catra say fuck, mentions of past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clottedcreamfudge/pseuds/clottedcreamfudge
Summary: From underneath a slightly scuffed grey sedan protrude a pair of legs Catra thinks she’ll probably be dreaming about for the rest of her life. Before today, she would’ve said there was nothing even remotely sexy about a boiler suit; however, in light of the evidence in front of her, she would like to reconsider her position on this. It’s possible that boiler suits can in fact be distractingly sexy, if the wearer has muscular thighs that put a beautiful strain on both the material, and on Catra’s tenuous grip on her self-control.Then the owner of the best pair of legs Catra has ever thirsted over pushes out from underneath the car and Catra forgets how to breathe.*Catra’s a street racer, part-time bartender, and reluctant therapy-goer. Melog is her long-suffering Toyota, and Adora is the mechanic at Moonstone who ends up working on it. Catra isn’t used to wanting things, let alone getting them.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 193
Kudos: 947
Collections: Shera





	Meet Me At The Finish Line

Catra’s going too fast; she knows this. The main indicator isn’t the rapidly rising speed gauge on the dashboard, or the noise of her baby’s truly battered engine attempting to keep up with the foot she has to the floor, or even the fact that she’s struggling to read street signs as they whip past. No - the _main_ indicator is the low whining noise coming from the passenger seat.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Catra says with a wild grin, glancing over at where Scorpia is digging her nails into the upholstery in an attempt to anchor herself.

“Whoa, eyes on the _road_ , Wildcat,” Scorpia says a little more shrilly than Catra would have said she was capable of.

“Hey, you asked to be here,” Catra cackles, turning up the radio to drown out the twin groaning of the engine and her rapidly sickening friend. As an appropriately frantic banjo solo blasts through the speakers, she rolls down the window and they drift across a thick, crudely spray-painted white line that indicates they’re a mile out from the finish line. Catra glances in the rearview reflexively (even though Entrapta’s made sure she knows _exactly_ where all her competitors are at any given time) and less than a minute later she’s slamming on the brakes and screeching to a halt, black and white flag flapping fervently in the wake of her dust cloud.

Catra punches a green-faced Scorpia in the arm, her laugh breathless and a little squeaky with adrenaline, then climbs out the window to lie spread eagled on top of the car. The coolness of the metal immediately starts to seep through her denim jacket, but she doesn’t care.

“I fucking love winning,” she says to nobody in particular, barely even registering the other cars crossing the finish line. They don’t matter. She lets the electricity of the night wash over her; the smell of petrol fumes, cooling metal, and dust tickle her nose, but she doesn’t move. The passenger door of Catra’s souped-up Toyota finally opens and she sees Scorpia unfolding her six-foot-five frame from the car out of the corner of her eye. She looks a little less sick now, and when Catra turns her head, she receives a blinding grin and a double thumbs up.

“That was absolutely terrifying!” she says enthusiastically. “I don’t know how you do this without throwing up but - wow! So impressive. That was really somethin’!” Catra, who has a praise kink a mile wide, preens and stretches out a little more on the roof with something akin to a purr.

“Nothing to it.” And sure, that sounds cocky, but she’s _good_ at this. She may be shit at pretty much everything else - cooking, getting up before midday, maintaining healthy relationships - but there isn’t anybody in Bright Moon or the Fright Zone that can beat her street racing time.

Or her drag racing time. Not that she’s bragging.

“Here’s your cash, asshole,” says a voice on the other side of the car, and Catra sits up with a smirk. Octavia, whose three jobs are mediating these races, collecting bets, and hating Catra with a fiery passion, is holding out an impressive wad of bills. Catra, who hates Octavia just as much, but with more _class_ , takes the money with a reverence she usually saves for her NOS.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you,” she quips, swinging her legs around and hooking her feet inside the open window. “C’mon Scorpia - let’s go before the foot soldiers get here. Milkshakes are on me.” Octavia sneers but steps back as Catra twists her body round and slides back into the car through the window - a move she perfected in private, and which took a lot of injuries to get right. Whatever. _Worth it_. She restarts the engine as Scorpia gets back in the car, and knocks off a lazy salute before rumbling back to the distant lights of civilisation.

* * *

“CATRA! Did it work, did it work, did it-” Catra stops Entrapta’s excited questioning with a hand over her mouth, her other hand thrusting a very large, very pink milkshake towards her as she and Scorpia enter their shared apartment. Entrapta’s delighted - if muffled - screech as she grabs the milkshake makes Catra drop her hand, satisfied that she has at least five minutes of uninterrupted slurping before the incessant questions start up again. Scorpia shuts the door as she shuffles in behind Catra, and the gentle giant herds them all over to the immense couch that takes up most of their living room. It cost more than anything in their entire apartment, and if anyone ever tries to take it away from her Catra is going to scratch their eyes out.

She is allowed six whole minutes of quiet before Entrapta has finished her milkshake (without getting brain freeze, somehow), and the questioning starts again in earnest.

“Come _on_ , Catra,” she breathes, leaning over Scorpia with shining eyes. “How did the system work? Did it give you an advantage? Give me the _data_.” Entrapta asks stuff like this the way most people ask for relationship deets; Entrapta is _thirsty_ , but like… for knowledge. She’s already surpassing her college professors in both engineering and astrophysics, and she likes to make intense, unblinking eye contact with people while she talks about _space_. Other than her lab partner, Hordak (who creeps Catra the fuck out), nobody really knows what to do with Entrapta.

Catra and Scorpia are used to the weird.

(Catra would never tell anyone this ever, but she kind of likes how weird Entrapta is. She’s very blunt and doesn’t really sugarcoat anything, but that just means nothing she says leaves room for interpretation; you know where you stand with Entrapta, which isn’t something you can say for most people.)

“I’m not sure how you managed to get tracking devices on every single one of those cars, but yeah,” Catra shrugs. “It worked pretty good. Knew where everyone else was, so I could concentrate on scaring the shit out of Scorpia by unleashing Melog’s top speed.” She grins at the memory of Octavia’s dumb face and snorts. “I was practically _invisible_.” Entrapta is alight with enthusiasm, grabbing a notebook from the unruly stack on the coffee table with one hand, while the other one searches her own hair for a pen. Entrapta’s hair has a life of its own, and she is never without at least two writing implements and, bizarrely, several small screwdrivers.

“Oh, the tracking devices were the easy part,” she says dismissively, scribbling something entirely incomprehensible on the pad and pausing to scratch her head with the end of her pen. Catra is unsurprised to see it’s the nib end. “Invisibility though… Now _that’s_ a concept. I wonder if---” She quickly veers off into technobabble that nobody else in the room can follow, and Catra rolls her eyes. She’s not smiling.

She’s _not_.

“You’re so smart, Entrapta,” Scorpia says warmly, squeezing her tightly with one giant arm. “I could never do what you do! Good thing I’m the muscle, hey guys? Getting this couch in here was my greatest achievement.” She pats the piece of furniture in question fondly, and Catra closes her eyes; takes a deep breath.

“You aren’t just the muscle, Scorpia,” she says, and she means it, but that is literally the only nice thing she can now say for the next 48 hours because growth is hard. “You’re a… good friend. And a shitty passenger.” Scorpia positively beams at her, and there are literal tears shimmering in her eyes.

“That’s _so_ nice of you to say, Wildcat. C’mere!” And Catra suddenly finds herself being squeezed into Scorpia’s side, one eye pressed shut through the sheer force of her embrace.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Catra says after five seconds of this treatment, somehow managing to wriggle loose. She scoots a little way away down the sofa so she can breathe, pulling her knees into her chest. She’s doing pretty okay with this whole physical affection thing, but sometimes it just makes her want to punch a wall. “Anyway, it’s like three in the morning. Shouldn’t people with boring jobs - I dunno. Go to bed now or something?” Scorpia chuckles and stands up, pulling Entrapta with her.

“Don’t stay up too late, Wildcat. Alright, Entrapta, time for night night!”

(Scorpia works with kids.)

(She sometimes forgets that they… are not kids.)

Entrapta, still babbling and scribbling away, is steered out of the room by a gently smiling Scorpia, and Catra is left alone with the dregs of her milkshake. She lets herself relax. She turns the TV on and, mindful of the aforementioned boring jobs of those around her, makes sure the volume is at a respectable level before she flicks over to some dumb show about antiques. It’s mindless, but it quiets the hum in her brain and she falls asleep just like that, curled around an unreasonably large cushion, empty milkshake cup rolling out of her hand to find rest under the coffee table.

* * *

Catra is woken up by a pair of strong arms lifting her from the sofa, and this has happened often enough that she barely even bothers opening her eyes.

“S’time?” she slurs, the familiar rhythm of being carried to her room threatening to lull her back to sleep before they even reach their destination.

“Early, tough stuff,” Scorpia whispers, which - wow. Catra has enough presence of mind to be impressed.

“Used y’inside voice… nice…” And then she’s out like a light, which is probably for the best. She’s pretty sure Scorpia was about to cry.

* * *

It’s almost 10am before Catra blinks reluctantly to wakefulness; falling asleep in her clothes always sucks, but she’s relieved to see that Scorpia managed to remove her combat boots and jacket at least. She groans and presses her face back into the pillow, knowing that the insistent pressure on her bladder means she isn’t going to be able to get back to sleep again.

A minute or two later she gives up and drags herself out of bed, pulling off yesterday’s clothes and slinking off to the bathroom to wash off the scent of sleep and petrol fumes. She brushes her teeth with her eyes half closed against the harsh overhead lights and, feeling significantly cleaner and more refreshed, goes back to her room to change. 

Being a benevolent friend (sometimes), she shoves a bunch of their combined laundry in the washing machine and makes a halfhearted attempt at doing the washing up. Her stomach growls angrily at her - an uncomfortable reminder that she’s always too fucking nervous to eat before a race, and all she’s had since lunchtime yesterday was that milkshake.

(She’d literally rather tear Melog to shreds with her bare hands than ever admit that she gets nervous, but it’s an excited kind of nervous and… whatever, she doesn’t need to explain herself to anyone.)

The only passable cook in the house is Entrapta, and some of her stuff can be a bit… experimental. Catra is relieved to find a fairly ordinary-looking portion of lasagne waiting for her when she opens the fridge door; it wouldn’t be the first time she’s had to resort to takeout before midday. While the lasagne heats up in the microwave, she sifts through the mail to see if there’s anything for her - unsurprisingly, nothing but bills. It’s not like she’s expecting anything.

She eats in front of the TV - some cartoon involving princesses or something, she’s not really paying attention - then washes up her plate and gets ready to work on Melog for the afternoon. She drags her unruly hair back into a messy ponytail, rolls up her sleeves, and pulls on a weathered pair of fingerless gloves. She has a criss-crossing pattern of burn scars across her palms that she’s hoping not to add to if she can help it.

Melog is waiting for her in the parking space she pays dearly for (because it’s a car, at the end of the day, and as much as it feels alive under her hands, it’s not exactly running off without her foot on the gas), and she lets her fingers trail affectionately across the hood as she goes for the catch.

Catra is by no means an engineer. She’s not a mechanic. She isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, technologically gifted. She’s a drifter, and a runaway, and a caustic-at-best bartender. She can make a dirty martini in under 30 seconds if she has to, and Entrapta actually sweats a little bit when she gets her hands on anything in the house more complex than the microwave.

But Melog _speaks_ to her. She sometimes knows what’s wrong with the car instinctively, just because it’s made a _certain noise_. It doesn’t make any sense, and the idea of actually admitting having a _special, magical bond_ with a Toyota makes her want to curl up in a ball of shame - or, like, hit someone.

Entrapta has asked time and time again - voice going pitchy and breathless, hands clasped together with a white knuckled grip - if she can get her hands on Melog’s engine. Catra would literally rather crash into a brick wall doing ninety. Entrapta is allowed, _by Catra’s good graces_ , to test out new tech on her baby, provided it is completely removable. These are her terms.

Catra pops the hood and cracks her neck decisively. Just some maintenance. She can do maintenance.

* * *

Hours later, Catra has stripped down to her crop top and she’s sweating something fierce in the early afternoon sun. Melog is trying so hard to tell her what’s wrong but this is just… completely beyond her. She pushed it too hard last night, and something in there is on the brink of being royally fucked.

“You know, you could at least take it to a mechanic, if you’re not going to let me get my hands in there.” Catra will deny this until the day she dies, but the shock of hearing another person’s voice in her quiet little bubble makes her yelp; she jumps so hard she hits her head on the raised hood with a pained hiss.

“Fucking _fuck_. Entrapta, what the _shit_ -”

“Sorry!” she says brightly, and she probably _is_ sorry but fuck, that really _hurt_.

“I thought you were TA-ing all day,” Catra growls, turning on the spot to face Entrapta - whom she instantly forgives, because she’s holding a burrito with Catra’s name on it.

I mean it like, literally has her name on it. The shitty handwriting is instantly recognisable as Seahawk’s. He and his probably, sort-of, girlfriend Mermista run the best food truck in Bright Moon, _Salineas_. Mermista kind of hates Catra, but it seems like she hates most people so she’s not too fussed; plus, Seahawk balances her out by aggressively loving everyone he meets while setting things on fire.

The fire is a whole _thing_.

“Well yeah, but I got a break! For food! Scorpia said you were planning to work on Melog today, and that you didn’t really eat yesterday, so she made me promise to provide _sustenance_. Mermista said to tell you she hates what you’ve done with your hair, and Seahawk insisted I give you the Adventure Special,” Entrapta says, as though she’s reading from a script. When she’s done, she beams and passes over the burrito. “I think that was everything!” Catra takes the burrito with a quiet groan that has nothing to do with the growing bump on her head and everything to do with the delicious smells wafting from the foil-wrapped delight in her hands.

“Mermista hasn’t seen me in like two weeks. Also, I haven’t even changed my hair,” Catra grouses halfheartedly, sitting down on the concrete and carefully unwrapping the top strip of foil so she can dive right in without having to wash the grease and oil off her hands. She moans a little, and she’s almost annoyed with how good this stupid burrito tastes. It’s _indecent_. “Jesus fuck this is good.”

“She said you’d say that,” Entrapta says pensively, joining Catra on the floor and opening a styrofoam takeaway container of her own. It’s filled with miniature versions of the food truck’s specials, which is pretty standard for her; the only thing Entrapta likes more than the vastness of space is tiny food. “She said to tell you she probably hates your hair anyway.”

Catra doesn’t even care. Mermista could punch her in the face with one hand while passing her a burrito in the other, and Catra would be pretty much fine with that.

The burrito, as it turns out, is intended to lull her into a false sense of security. As soon as it’s gone, Entrapta begins with her usual entreaties to get her grubby mitts all over Melog’s inner workings. Which, now Catra thinks about it, sounds a bit dirty - if worryingly accurate.

(Catra has her suspicions about Entrapta and her lab partner, Hordak. He has a bionic arm, and Entrapta looks at it the way Catra looks at the ladies gymnastics team at the Olympics.)

“I am doing _fine_ by myself,” Catra grits out, after enduring five solid minutes of ‘please please _please_ ’ from Entrapta. She leans through the car’s open window and violently turns the key. “I do not _need_ anybody’s help.” Unfortunately, Melog takes that as its cue to make a noise like a dying whale, and refuses to start up.

“That didn’t sound good,” Entrapta says unhelpfully; annoyingly, she sounds absolutely _delighted_. Entrapta loves problems because it means she gets to _solve_ them; unexpected noises and catastrophic engine failure make her positively giddy with excitement.

Catra closes her eyes and counts to ten. Her therapist had told her once that the counting wasn’t really for her - it was for the people around her. Because if ten seconds of quiet contemplation is all it takes to stop someone else from getting hurt, it’s probably worth it, right?

Entrapta helps Catra to test this theory with alarming regularity.

“No. No, it did not sound good.” Catra concedes this through a jaw so set it feels like concrete. “I may have pushed Melog _a little_ too hard yesterday, but I. Will. Fix. It.”

“I have a classmate who said she’d look at it for you if you want,” Entrapta continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Catra is seriously debating delivering her a high kick to the thorax. “For someone with a very strong moral and ethical code, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with the idea of illegal street racing. Fascinating instance of cognitive dissonance! Anyway, her shift at Moonstone Mechanics starts in like 20 minutes.” Catra leans against Melog, eyes narrowed and arms folded. 

“Let me get this straight,” she says slowly. “You told a complete stranger about my entirely illegal side gig, and you want me to just… what? Walk in there and trust that the stuck-up priss hasn’t sold me out to the cops?” Entrapta is shaking her head vigorously by the time she’s halfway through her line of questioning.

“Adora’s not like that! She’s a good person. She’s always been nice to me, even when other people in class are… not so nice.” Entrapta’s enthusiasm falters for a moment, and Catra swears furiously inside her own head. Entrapta’s a complete weirdo - this much is fact. But like, who isn’t? Catra has a horrible feeling she’d punch a lot of people if it would keep their little freakshow family happy.

“Yeah well, those people are fucking morons,” she says levelly, looking away from Entrapta to stare resolutely at the ground. “You’d probably better get back to class. Or TA-ing or whatever. Thanks for the burrito, nerd.” What? _She’s allowed to call her that_. Entrapta’s 100-megawatt smile is back in place by the time she leaves, which makes Catra feel marginally better about the disaster that is her life right now; she tries not to examine that too closely. She sighs and turns back to the car.

“Melog. I am fucking _begging_ you to start. I promise I will take you to that dumbass auto place and I will let people who are actually _qualified_ to touch you get all up in your business, but I need you to _fucking start, baby_.”

The engine starts with a pleased rumble when she turns the key this time; not an angry whale in sight. Catra sighs deeply and thunks her head against the doorframe. Her car is a complete prick.

“You win this round.”

* * *

Moonstone Mechanics’ storefront is exactly what Catra would’ve expected, if only she’d allowed herself to expect anything at all. There’s a small customer-facing block to the right, all plexiglass and posters of cars Catra couldn’t even dream of affording; to the left is a double height garage, metal shutters raised two-thirds of the way up to allow cars and people in and out without letting in too much of the baking sun; cavernous metal shelves filled with countless tyres line the walls, and just inside the shadowy, high-ceilinged interior space, Catra can see a couple of cars being worked on by barely-visible figures. She puts on her parking brake and turns off Melog’s engine with a sigh.

“I’m doing this for you,” she says sternly, exiting the car and locking it behind her. “Do _not_ show me up in there.” Then, in classic Catra style, she completely ignores the front desk in favour of slipping into the garage. As her eyes adjust to the shade, she sees something that makes her seriously reconsider her decision to come straight here without showering.

From underneath a slightly scuffed grey sedan protrude a pair of legs Catra thinks she’ll probably be dreaming about for the rest of her life. Before today, she would’ve said there was nothing even remotely sexy about a boiler suit; however, in light of the evidence in front of her, she would like to reconsider her position on this. It’s possible that boiler suits can in fact be _distractingly_ sexy, if the wearer has muscular thighs that put a beautiful strain on both the material, and on Catra’s tenuous grip on her self-control.

Then the owner of the best pair of legs Catra has ever thirsted over pushes out from underneath the car and Catra forgets how to breathe.

The boiler suit is undone to the waist, the sleeves tied loosely around abs that Catra can see shifting slightly under a thin white tank top as the woman gets to her feet. A gloved hand comes to the hem of the tank top and, as if in slow motion, the material is lifted up to reveal said abs, which have now knocked out the legs for top spot in Catra’s imminent fantasies. The woman in front of her lets the tank top drop, having used the hem to wipe a combination of sweat and engine oil from her face (which should _not_ be hot, Jesus fucking Christ), then pauses as she spots Catra. Her eyes are insanely blue.

This is probably the point at which Catra should keep eye contact and like… smile politely or something. But her eyes keep flicking back to the woman’s arms because fucking _hell_ they’re nice; she’s almost translucently pale, but that only serves to highlight the taut muscles in her biceps and forearms.

Catra swallows against the sudden dryness in her throat. Is it hot in here? It’s definitely hot in here. She’s acutely aware that she hasn’t brushed her hair since she first started working on Melog this morning, and it has been _humid_. She probably looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards.

“Hi!” the woman says, a warm smile spreading across her face like Catra’s done anything at all to deserve it; she’s obviously taken pity on her and decided Catra’s a dumbass who doesn’t know how garages work. Or front desks. In reality, all she’s actually done so far is purposefully use the wrong door then violently fantasise about plastering herself very deliberately against a complete stranger’s body. Naked.

“Um, hi?” Her therapist told her apologising is an important step when you know you’ve done something wrong. She should apologise. “Entrapta said I should come here and ask for Adora?” Or she could say that instead, that’s also fine. The woman’s smile only brightens. It’s irritating and beautiful; it pisses Catra off a bit.

“Oh, are you Catra? I’m Adora, actually - Entrapta said you might drop by with something exciting for me to look at!” Catra can’t think of anything more exciting to look at than what’s right in front of her, but she keeps that to herself. She’s a little embarrassed that she referred to this woman as a stuck-up priss now; she’s a grease-stained goddess and Catra wants to lick her all over.

Which is not a helpful thought.

“Yeah. Yes. I’m Catra. Melog - I mean, the car’s outside. If you have time to look at it? You’re probably busy or whatever.” She’s usually a lot smoother than this; she once picked someone up at a bar just by smirking at them suggestively. But then, she’s not sure she’s ever met anyone this hot before. She didn’t used to be this thirsty, surely - she wants to climb this woman like a tree. Adora, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice Catra’s internal struggle, and in fact looks delighted at the prospect of helping out.

(With the car, not the ‘climbing her like a tree’ thing. Sadly.)

“I would _love_ to meet Melog,” she breathes, and she’s darting out of the garage a moment later, leaving Catra to pick her jaw up off the floor and slink after her. It’s a blessing and a curse that the view from this angle is equally devastating.

Adora has her head under the hood moments later, and Catra’s trying to follow what she’s saying - no really, she is - but Adora’s arms are braced on the edge of the open bonnet and she just doesn’t know how to deal with the way it puts her biceps on display. Is she actually a mechanic or does she just bench press cars all day?

“It’s been ages since I got anything _interesting_ to work on.” Catra forces herself to tune in as Adora leans over to place a reverent hand on the engine. Catra’s throat actually clicks when she swallows this time; she wishes she’d brought a bottle of water or something. She has never wanted to _be_ her car before but, well, here she finds herself.

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?” She’s trying to sound casual, but some of her concern must make its way through to Adora because she looks up with a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Was it making a noise like a dying whale when you tried to turn the engine over?” Catra nods wordlessly. “Okay, with a nitrous system there’s a fair amount of pressure on - well, everything. Could be the fuel system or the ignition coil, but I’ll have to strip her down to get a proper idea.” Catra’s not sure if it’s the mental image of Adora stripping _her_ down that makes her snap, but she feels a familiar unreasonable fury rising in her stomach.

“Don’t gender my car, asshole,” she bites out, and Adora looks at her in surprise. Catra takes a deep breath in and closes her eyes. That was super fucking stupid, why is she _like this_ -

“Sorry,” Adora says, and she sounds gentle and not at all offended, which is somehow worse. Catra opens her eyes with a start when she feels a hand on her arm. Adora is looking at her with a sympathetic expression. “It’s a mechanic thing, but I know a lot of people think it’s dumb.” Catra is going to need double time with her therapist at this rate. She breathes in and out a couple of times.

“No, it’s fine,” she says as calmly as she can, trying to remember the stock phrases she was given for when she couldn’t find her own words. “I’m a little frustrated with these current circumstances, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” Adora’s answering grin is blinding.

“I dunno - I think it does me good to get yelled at every once in a while. Keeps me humble,” she says with a wink, taking her hand away and gently closing the engine cover with a click before stripping off her gloves. “I can look at it later this afternoon if you can spare Melog until tomorrow? I promise I’ll take good care of it.” She’s just so nauseatingly comforting, and Catra would usually want to hit something after this long interacting with another human being, but she just kind of feels… good. Like she’s working a muscle that really needs it; like rolling your shoulders into a really good stretch after you’ve been sitting in a chair all day.

She nods. Clears her throat.

“That’d be… good. Thanks. Let me know how much I owe you.” Adora is already shaking her head vehemently.

“Nope, nuh-uh. This is like, a _gift_ for me. Have you any idea how boring it is working on Mrs Smith’s 1.2 litre Subaru when stuff like _this_ is waiting for me? You’re doing me a favour - seriously.” Catra’s hackles go up instantly because that’s just what _happens_ when people try to do her favours (she can pay her way, alright, she doesn’t need anybody’s _charity_ ) but before she can lash out like she always does, a voice interrupts from the direction of the garage.

“Adora, is there a reason you’re messing around with scrap metal instead of doing your actual job?” And oh, now Catra has someone _deserving_ to take the hits she’s so desperate to hand out. She spins on her heel, and she actually starts to raise her fists before-

“Glimmer, this car is a work of _art_ ,” Adora says with a gasp, her hand finding its way to Catra’s elbow with a firm grasp that has Catra pausing at least long enough to see who decided to shove their nose in where it’s not welcome before she rips them to shreds. Frankly, she’s a little surprised. The girl in question has hair like candy floss - including a glittery, pastel quality to it that _cannot_ be natural - mistrustful eyes, and she’s probably five foot nothing on a good day. I mean, her name’s Glimmer; Catra isn’t sure what she was expecting really.

“Who’s the pixie?” Catra asks gruffly, looking the girl in front of her up and down with a raised eyebrow; her fists are still balled up at her sides, but she’s pretty sure you’re not meant to beat up kids, even if they _are_ rude. The child in question makes a noise that smacks of being _deeply offended_ , which is honestly a huge mistake; everything Catra _is_ latches onto that noise. “Doesn’t this break child labour laws? Should I be reporting this?” She’s drawling now, smirk falling into place like a mask, and she knows she’s being an asshole but for once in her life someone else started it.

“I am _twenty-one years old_ ,” the girl hisses, and Catra ensures her eyes widen in appropriately comic surprise.

“I bet you get carded buying scissors, Sparkles,” Catra snorts.

“Adora?!” The kid seems so angry now that she’s pretty much lost for words, gesticulating wildly at Adora as if requesting aid, or possibly just asking her to beat up Catra on her behalf.

“I’m not hearing a _no_ -” Catra starts, but then the hand on her arm disappears and there’s an elbow digging into her side. She hisses and whips her head around to glare at Adora, who’s looking desperately between Catra and the newcomer.

“C’mon, guys - no fighting! Glimmer, this is Catra. She’s a-- a friend.” Adora only stumbles over that word a little bit and Catra grits her teeth against the traitorous thundering of her own heart. “Catra, this is Glimmer. She owns Moonstone, and she is _super nice_ and is _definitely going to let me fix up Melog in my downtime_.” The last bit sounds beseeching and my god, if she was turning that pleading gaze on Catra she’d be dead on the spot. Sparkles still looks angry, but she seems to wilt slightly under the look, which - you know. Catra can’t blame her really. She doesn’t want to think about what she’d do under threat of that look.

“ _Fine_ ,” Sparkles says shortly, thrusting her hands into the violet chinos she’s wearing - like that’s a completely reasonable clothing choice for someone who runs an auto shop - and glowering a little less severely in Catra’s direction. “I can play nice, but you still need to get that thing inside before someone notices and thinks it’s somehow affiliated with us.” Catra bristles.

“Yep, fine - will do. Thanks, Glimmer!” Adora says quickly, opening the driver side door of the car and practically shoving Catra inside. She leans through the open window, smiling apologetically with one hand on the top of the car, and Catra forgets to be mad. “Just drive it round the back and I can get started as soon as I’m done with the truly mind-numbing task of fixing Mrs Smith’s suspension.”

“Okay,” Catra says shortly. She takes a breath. “Thank you. Again. I’m really more of a gotta-go-fast person than a people-person.” Adora laughs and it makes Catra want to drag her through the open window and… bite her or something. She’s not really sure but for the last ten minutes she’s been feeling moments away from crawling out of her own skin.

“There’s a very battered punch bag in the break room that could tell you a few stories about my people skills,” Adora says, grinning, and then she’s pulling her stupid glorious face out of the car and directing Catra round the back of the garage; like Catra’s even safe to _drive_ after the blinding mental image of Adora working over a punch bag. Melog starts up, thankfully, and while some of the whale noises are a bit more present, she manages to get it parked up out back and hands over the keys to Adora.

“If you hurt this car, there’s nowhere on this earth that will be safe for you,” she says dangerously, leaning in close and tapping a finger against Adora’s chest. “I will hunt you down.” Adora smiles at her slowly, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, which is… off-putting. Catra’s sure she used to be more intimidating than this. She once made a cashier cry just by looking at her.

“Noted,” she says cheerfully, and then she frowns. “Hey, do you have a way to get home?” Catra raises her eyebrows, off-balance from the proximity, that _smile_ , and now the unexpected line of questioning.

“It’s like a half hour walk,” she says finally, pulling away slightly and shrugging. “This was kinda spur of the moment but no sweat, I’ve got legs.” Adora’s gaze drops to Catra’s ripped jeans, and once again Catra has no idea what she’s thinking when she says-

“You sure do.” Her smile is a little softer now. “Bow’s about to finish his shift though - I’m sure he can take you home.” Catra almost physically recoils.

“No really, that’s-” But she’s cut off by Adora angling her head towards the back entrance of the garage and yelling “BOW” at a truly ear-splitting volume. Seconds later, a dark-skinned guy pops his head around the door with a questioning look.

“You rang?”

“You’re going home soon right?” He nods an affirmative, eyes flicking between Adora and Catra. “Great - would you mind dropping Catra off on your way? Her baby’s staying with us overnight and she lives out by the university.” Catra doesn’t bother asking how Adora knows where she lives (because Entrapta’s only interest in ‘privacy’ is as a variable in a controlled social experiment) but she really _really_ doesn’t want to get in a car with a complete goddamn stranger when she’s perfectly capable of _walking_.

“Seriously, I’m _fine_ -” But this time it’s _Bow_ who interrupts, striding out of the door and across the concrete towards them. He looks determined, and also weirdly underdressed for a mechanic.

“No, no, I insist,” he says firmly, coming to a stop in front of the two women. “Any friend of Adora’s is a friend of mine. Plus - _crop top buddies!_ ” And yeah, that was kind of the first question that came into Catra’s mind when she saw this guy, because she’s 99.9% sure there are health and safety regulations against wearing crop tops in an auto shop but… whatever.

(She and Melog have an understanding. She’s allowed to wear a crop top when working on the car, and Melog doesn’t burn anything but her hands. It’s called compromise.)

Adora laughs and it’s a little nerdy, which is just… terrible and not at all endearing.

“Seriously, just accept the ride, Catra - it’s two against one, and Bow won’t sleep tonight if you walk past the Fright Zone all by yourself.” Catra feels a smirk pulling at her lips.

“Oh, trust me,” she purrs, “there’s nothing the Fright Zone could throw at me that I can’t handle.” Adora rolls her eyes good naturedly, those ridiculous arms crossed over her chest. Her cheeks look a little pink; the sun is still high in the sky and Adora’s pale enough that she’s starting to burn already. The idiot probably isn’t wearing sunscreen.

“Just take the damn lift, Catra,” Adora says firmly, but without bite. It kind of feels like _friendly banter_ , which is gross, because Catra doesn’t _do_ friendly banter. She does snark, and sometimes intentional assholery, and then stilted apologies. She has a _system_.

(Her therapist has told her it’s a shitty system - though not in as many words.

_“If you can work on your breathing, like we talked about, hopefully we can work towards you lashing out less and less. Which means fewer apologies! I know you don’t like those.”_

_“But I really like lashing out.”_

_“No you don’t - it makes you feel like crap, if you’ll pardon the crude language. We’ve talked about this, and it’s okay to start off with the selfish reasons for wanting to stop, before we look at how it also helps the people around us.”_

_“Urgh, can we go back to talking about my abandonment issues instead? That was actually less painful.”_

_“Sure, Catra.”_ )

“I was gonna stop off for ice cream on the way back - you wanna join?” Jesus Christ, who _is_ this guy? For a split second Catra thinks he might be hitting on her, but one look at his painfully earnest face tells her he’s literally just _like this_. Frankly, she’s not how to deal with such blatant enthusiasm for her company.

Fuck it. Whatever. She likes ice cream.

“Fine.” Bow and Adora high-five for some reason Catra cannot fathom, then Adora grabs her hand, pulling a pen out of one of the pockets of her boiler suit. Catra can feel heat rising in her neck at the casual touch. “What are you-”

“My number,” Adora interrupts, scrawling a jumble of digits across the palm of Catra’s hand. Jesus _fuck_ , won’t someone round here let her finish a sentence? “Drop me a line and I can let you know when Melog’s back up and running.” Adora lets go of her hand then, and Catra feels a deep and unnerving sense of loss.

“Right,” she replies, for lack of anything better to say. Adora’s still smiling as she slips the pen back into her pocket, and Catra feels like she should maybe add something else onto that ‘right’ - something like “is there a broom closet around here?” or “how do you feel about sarcastic, anxiety-ridden orphans as prospective partners?”

But then Bow is excitedly yelling ‘Crop Top Squad’ and steering her towards a very clean, very white SUV as Adora waves goodbye and ducks back inside the garage. The SUV has vanity plates, and there’s a glittery red air freshener shaped like a pair of cherries hanging from the rearview mirror. Inside, it’s even cleaner than Melog, and as Bow politely and enthusiastically tells her to ‘buckle up’, Catra realises she has officially lost control of this situation.

“Favourite ice cream flavour?” Bow asks as soon as he’s started the engine.

“Mint chip,” Catra answers automatically, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Wait. Are we… _bonding_? I didn’t sign up for bonding.”

“The bond between crop top buddies is deep and sacred,” Bow says reverently, placing one hand over his heart as he steers them out of the parking lot with the other. “Resistance is futile.”

“Are you always this aggressively friendly?” Catra snarks, mouth set in a determined sneer. Bow just laughs, which is just - _so_ annoying. Are they all like this? She kind of wants Glitter back; Catra’s much better with arguments than she is with… whatever this is.

“Only with people who have quite _clearly_ been checking out my best friend.” Catra whips her head around to stare at him, open mouthed. He’s got his eyes on the road but he’s waggling his eyebrows and he looks super fucking dumb.

“I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about,” she says frostily, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes some more. It makes her feel a little better. “Also, you have no proof.”

“You didn’t even realise anyone else was in the shop when you came in, did you?” Catra groans and closes her eyes. Bow is sniggering. Everything is terrible.

(It isn’t terrible at all. She’s terrified by how easy he’s making this. She doesn’t _make friends_ like this; she just finds people who don’t hate her and goes from there. Scorpia is an anomaly, since she’s friends with everyone.)

“I may have been slightly distracted,” she admits, eyes still closed; maybe when she opens them this will all have been a weird fever dream. “Also my eyes were… adjusting to the darkness?” God, she’s so fucking lame. She shouldn’t be allowed out in public.

“You’re adorable,” Bow says fondly, and urgh, he’s known her for like five minutes - he’s _wrong_. She’s a badass racing driver with a juvie record. She’s never been adorable in her life and she’s not planning to start now.

“Yeah well, you’re an idiot,” she says hotly, which just makes him laugh again.

“I’m an idiot with _eyes_ ,” he says with a grin Catra can actually _hear,_ and then they’re pulling into the ice cream place and Bow’s ordering for her and urgh - Catra doesn’t totally hate it.

When did she get soft?

“You should probably just give in,” Bow says cheerfully as he hands her a dipped waffle cone. “You’ve already pointed out that I’m aggressively friendly, and Glimmer’s great once you get to know her. It’ll be much easier to woo Adora with us on your side.”

“You’re delusional,” Catra grumbles, taking the cone and reluctantly following Bow back to the SUV. “I don’t want to _woo_ anyone. My life is fine without the additional stress of performative niceness. And women who could probably bench press me.”

“You’re drooling,” Bow points out levelly, leaning against the side of the car and getting to work on his own cone. Vanilla, with cherry syrup, which Catra has absolutely no doubt she will now _remember_ for no fucking reason at all. Catra snorts involuntarily, which is about when she realises she is _losing_.

“Ever considered that I might not be worth trying to be friends with?” she says lightly, because it may be too late for Scorpia and Entrapta, but they already know she’s _damaged_ , and she should really give this weirdo a fighting chance to get out. Catra can feel Bow’s eyes on her, but she just licks nonchalantly at her ice cream cone and avoids eye contact.

“Nah,” he says after a moment, and she can’t help but squint up at him in suspicious surprise. Come on, Catra is just one giant red flag; mothers with young children cross the street to avoid her. “Our midriffs have bonded. There’s no going back now.” Catra laughs then, the noise bursting out of her without any warning.

“You’re _nuts_ ,” she sniggers, returning to her ice cream to avoid the bright smile on Bow’s face. 

She ends up with two new numbers in her phone later; Bow’s is keyed in under ‘AFAF’ (Aggressively Friendly As Fuck’) and Adora is given the high honour of her own name. Bow tries to get her to put a heart emoji in there somewhere, but she doesn’t _do_ emojis. And also he can fuck off.

Finally alone in the apartment, several hours before Entrapta and Scorpia are due to get home, Catra lets herself breathe. Her thumbs hover over Adora’s name in her phone book. She should send her a text; she won’t get her car back otherwise. She can’t just abandon Melog because she’s holding back a minor meltdown about being attracted to someone for the first time in years.

**To: Adora**

_Hey - it’s Catra._

There, that’s literally all that’s required of her. She has fulfilled her social obligations. She hasn’t even put her phone down before it buzzes with a response.

**From: Adora**

_Hey Catra! Just about 2 start on Melog. Hope u enjoyed ur ice cream!_

She’s put a little ice cream emoji after ‘ice cream’, like Catra doesn’t know what a fucking ice cream is. Also, who the fuck types that fast?

**To: Adora**

_I know what ice cream is, thanks. It was fine._

The response comes almost instantly, again; this time it’s just a string of exclamation marks, followed by three ice cream emojis and an upside-down smiley.

**To: Adora**

_The college education system is a failure._

**From: Adora**

_U wont be saying that when u hear Melog’s engine 2moro! It’s gonna b amazing_

**To: Adora**

_Vroom vroom._

The next text she receives is literally just ten car emojis and a love heart. She hates that she’s smiling.

* * *

“So, this is unexpected,” Perfuma says, not unkindly, as Catra steps into her office. She sits down on an overstuffed chair and gestures for Catra to take a seat herself. She chooses the sofa, pulling her legs up so she can rest her chin on her knees.

Perfuma is a trainee therapist, and the main draw at first was that she was cheap; Catra gets budget therapy and Perfuma gets a seriously fucked-up, ex-juvenile 20-something to practice on. Win-win. And the therapy is sort of working, Catra thinks, so like… she can deal with Perfuma occasionally going off on a tangent about her chakras. 

Catra ‘hm’s noncommittally and picks at the pilling fabric on one of the cushions instead of making eye contact. Perfuma’s wearing a flowy pink dress and an actual literal flower crown, which... Honestly, Catra should hate her therapist with a fiery passion, but she’s just… so nice. It would be like hating a puppy. Or Scorpia (who is really just a very large puppy).

“You weren’t due another session until next week, and you don’t usually come to me voluntarily. So why did you call me, Catra?” Her voice is warm and encouraging, and Catra tries not to wince; she’s still working on accepting softness from others.

“Something happened,” she mumbles, now fiddling with the zip on the cushion cover. Perfuma doesn’t say anything, waiting for Catra to continue. “I took Melog to a er… to a garage. It keeps making dumb, like, whale noises.”

“That’s a big step for you, Catra,” Perfuma says, sounding genuinely delighted. “You’re trusting someone else with something very important to you.”

“Yeah.” Catra swallows, then looks at the ceiling. She thinks she might have broken the cushion a bit. She doesn’t think Perfuma’s noticed. “Anyway, there was a mechanic there. She was…” Catra struggles to find the words to describe Adora. “Attractive?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Catra groans and buries her face in her knees.

“She’s gorgeous and I don’t know what to do about it. She makes me feel _completely_ off-balance. She’s annoying and just overwhelmingly positive and _kind_ , and I don’t-” Catra cuts herself off with a sharp growl. It’s been bad enough having these thoughts inside of her own head.

“Being attracted to someone isn’t a bad thing, Catra. Wanting to be close to others is perfectly normal for a lot of people. Are you bothered by the fact that you’re attracted to a woman?” Catra’s head shoots up so she can stare incredulously at Perfuma; she simply looks back, calm and questioning.

“Um, _no_ ,” Catra says finally. Has she not mentioned this? Has it not come up? “I’m not straight. That’s… That’s why…” She runs out of steam, and Perfuma nods sympathetically.

“That’s why your foster mother was so cruel to you.” Catra just nods back, not bothering to say anything. Yeah, Ms Weaver was big on that comp het life. It was partly the gay thing, and partly the fact that Catra refused to perform, and acted out in class regardless of how highly she scored on aptitude tests. “And are you comfortable with your sexuality? Our family’s opinions can have a huge impact on us, regardless of whether or not we realise it.”

“She isn’t my _family_ ,” Catra spits out - then stops. Breathes. In and out. In and out. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Perfuma says with an encouraging smile. “And thank you for apologising to me. But maybe I should rephrase. She was never your mother, but she did have a huge impact on how you feel about yourself and how you interact with others. Are you comfortable enough in this aspect of your identity that what _she_ thought about it no longer impacts your _own_ feelings on your sexuality?” Catra thinks about that for a second.

“I mean, yeah. I think so? I think I’m okay with liking women. It’s just this _particular_ woman that’s throwing me off.”

“How is she ‘throwing you off’?” Catra rolls her neck, both arms now clamped tight around her knees. She lets all the air out of her lungs in one, deflated breath.

“She’s just _really hot_.” And yeah, Catra’s kind of whining now, but the floodgates have opened and she’s paying for this session so she may as well go for it. “She has these amazing abs, and eyes like the _ocean_ or something, and her arms are just-” She lets her legs splay out and flops sideways onto the sofa with another groan. “She’s just so nice as well, and she likes Melog, and I don’t know how to deal with someone like that.” It’s a little muffled by the sofa cushions, but Perfuma seems to have got the gist.

“You’re struggling with being attracted to someone you perceive as being…?” Perfuma prompts her. Catra groans into the cushions again.

“ _Out of my league_. Miles out of it. Our zip codes aren’t even friends.”

“Catra.” Oh no. She’s using her Violently Positive voice. Catra reluctantly rolls over slightly so her face is no longer engulfed by a cushion. “You are smart. You can be incredibly kind, you’ll protect the people you love with your life, and you are also - as a side point - an attractive young woman. You’ve grown a lot in the past year we’ve been working together, and you would bring all that and more to any kind of relationship. Don’t sell yourself short just because you’re dealing with some difficult issues. Most people are.” Catra is flushing all the way down her neck now.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me. That’s gross,” Catra mumbles, pulling a face as she sits up again. Perfuma flashes her a smile.

“Don’t worry, you can shower off the positive vibes when you get home.” Really, she knows Catra far too well by this point. Catra’s phone vibrates with an incoming message and she jumps, having forgotten just for a moment that anything existed outside of this room; Perfuma’s weirdly good at keeping her present. She pulls out her phone and her heart flip-flops unhelpfully in her chest when she sees it’s a text from Adora.

“Car’s ready,” she says gruffly, but Perfuma’s smile has turned sly now, so there’s no way she’s not blushing furiously. She stands up and knocks off a sloppy salute, trying to recover her bravado. “Thanks for the sesh, Doc. I’ll send you cash later - invoice me.”

“I’ve never sent you an invoice in my life,” Perfuma says with a tinkling laugh. “Now go pick up Melog before it thinks it’s been abandoned.” She shoos Catra out of her office and moments later she’s standing on the sidewalk, unlocking her phone to read the text in full.

**From: Adora**

_Hey, tuff stuff. Melog is ready 4 u. The sound it makes now is so beautiful u will cry. Bow can pick u up in 10 mins if ur ready???_

**To: Adora**

_I’m at the college. I’ll text him._

**From: Adora**

_OMG U HAVE HIS NUMBER? Crop top squad is happening 4 real_

**To: Adora**

_What, no emojis?_

**From: Adora**

_No crop top emoji :(_

Catra snorts, then immediately glances around to make sure nobody witnessed her moment of weakness. Thankfully, she’s alone on this side of campus; it’s an awkward time in the morning, and she suspects everyone’s in tutorials.

**To: AFAF**

_You going my way, arrow boy?_

Apparently he texts back even more quickly than Adora. Seriously, who the fuck are these people? Are they in the Guinness Book of World Records for having Zero Chill?

**From: AFAF**

_The crop top bond tells me you need picking up from campus. On my way!_

**To: AFAF**

_Adora told you, didn’t she._

**From: AFAF**

_Her middle name is Efficiency! Actually her middle name is classified. She owns a crop top too, you know. Maybe she’ll show you sometime!_

**To: AFAF**

_I will end you._

**From: AFAF**

_Crop top squaaaaaaaaaaaaad_

The journey is a lot less fraught this time; Bow only calls her cute once, and she only tells him to fuck off twice. Is this what growth feels like? Catra spends most of the car ride convincing herself that her memories of Adora have to be entirely wrong. She hasn’t had sex in a very long time; Adora is probably just a perfectly average human woman. She’s always more reasonable after a session with Perfuma.

Then they pull into the parking lot round the back of the shop, and Catra’s hopes are dashed against the rocks like an unfortunate, very gay ship.

Adora is waiting for them by the back entrance, smiling at the approaching vehicle and, to Catra’s eyes at least, glowing slightly in the morning sunlight. Her oil-streaked grey jeans are tucked into a pair of steel-capped boots, and there’s a rip halfway up the left thigh where the material _clearly_ couldn't handle the sheer power of Adora’s leg muscles. Worse than that, by far, is what’s happening on her top half.

“Crop top squad!” Bow hollers joyfully as he and Catra both climb out of the car. Catra feels like her legs are made of soup. Adora grins at Bow and gives him two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Crop top squad!” Adora yells back.

Because she is wearing a crop top. Catra whips around to face Bow as he rounds the car, and the innocence on his face is a _lie_ , she knows this now.

“You _knew_ ,” she hisses accusingly. His eyes widen in _patently false confusion_.

“I mean, we don’t coordinate our outfits here, Catra,” he says calmly, before an _evil smile_ creeps onto his face. “Most days, anyway.” Then he’s gone, the traitor, walking towards a still smiling Adora. Like he’s expecting Catra to.

In fairness to Bow, it’s not just the crop top that’s doing it for her - although that would be enough. Adora’s got a red shirt over the top of the offending article; it’s unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow so she can, presumably, give Catra a lust-driven heart attack. All the shirt does, really, is frame her abs more flagrantly.

“Catra!” Adora says, sounding delighted at her approach, and not at all like the evil temptress she obviously is. Catra shoves away the thought, because it’s gross and slut-shamey in a way she doesn’t like, but her legs don’t get the message that they’re trying to be _chill_. She stumbles over literally nothing, the ground rushing up to meet her with horrifying inevitability.

Great - now she’s going to have zero chill _and_ a smashed-up face. A winning combination.

Except she doesn’t quite make it to the ground. A warm, firm arm wraps around her waist, and then she’s blinking up into Adora’s blue, blue eyes, which are set in a _very concerned face_.

“Hey, Adora,” she says, kinda dumbly.

“Are you okay?” Adora asks, pulling Catra to her feet like she weighs nothing at all - which… Catra tries very hard not to feel a lot of things about that. It would probably be easier to feel less flustered about this whole situation if Adora didn’t still have one toned arm around her. She should tell her to let go, probably.

“I’m fine,” she says, as firmly as she can; it comes out a little wobbly, and that therapy session was for _nothing_ because now she _hates herself_.

“Are you sure?” Adora presses, and Catra calls upon her meagre reserves of self-control to pull herself out of the other woman’s grip. She steps away and Adora’s arm falls back to her side, her hand flexing like she still wants to reach out.

“Yeah, I’m _fine_ ,” Catra insists. She forces herself to inject some sarcasm into her voice. “Just _so_ excited to see you, princess.” Adora’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth to say something, but they’re interrupted by none other than Sparkles, the glittery rage monster.

“Guys, what are you - oh. It’s _you_ ,” she says accusingly, pointing at Catra. Weirdly, this makes Catra feel much better; she grins, slow and lascivious.

“You’re not my type, Sparkles, but it’s nice to know you’ve been thinking about me.” She’s on solid ground with baseless flirting, because there are absolutely _no_ stakes here. Sparkles goes completely red in the face, and she’s probably about twelve seconds from punching Catra in the face - but then she lets out a breath and just groans instead.

“Okay, this is stupid. Also, nobody told me there was a dress code today?” She looks a little bit hurt, actually. Catra has fucking whiplash from these people. Then Sparkles grins, pulling the hem of her shirt halfway up her torso and knotting it below her chest.

“Crop top squad!” Bow yells, and then everyone’s high-fiving each other. This is fucking _chaos_. Catra needs to find Melog and get the hell outta dodge before she catches something. Bow has the nerve to try and high-five _Catra_ , and she hisses like a wounded animal and glares at him; it does not deter him, because he _takes her wrist to hold her in place_ and gives her a high-five anyway. Adora’s laughing and she seems delighted by the absolute madness around her, which is the only reason Catra doesn’t immediately claw his eyes out.

(Also, she thinks they’re friends or something now, and she’s working on _not_ lashing out at people who are nice to her. Even if they drive her up the fucking wall.)

“This is nice and all,” Catra drawls loudly, in a tone of voice that lets everyone know that she doesn’t think it’s nice at all. “But I was under the impression this was an _auto shop_ , not a cheerleading meet-up.” Adora grins at her, impossibly fond for someone she’s known less than 24 hours, and Catra can feel her own face trying to respond in kind - which is just, so completely out of order. She and her facial muscles are going to be having _words_.

“It’s too late,” Sparkles says solemnly, shaking her head. “You’ve had ice cream with Bow. We’ve almost had a screaming argument. You and Adora…? Let’s not get into that. You’re a cheerleader now too, Catra.” And the pastel princess is actually _smirking_ and Catra realises she’s been reading the evil pixie wrong this entire time.

Oh _no_ , she’s definitely going to end up _liking_ this girl.

“I am _not_ affiliated with you people,” Catra hisses; Adora’s smothering another one of those nerdy laughs behind her hand, and this is all kind of a lot for Catra to deal with before midday.

“Aw, you just missed Melog, didn’t you?” Adora says, warmth and teasing and other _dangerous things_ suffusing her voice as she reaches out to grab Catra by the wrist (seriously, these _people_ ), pulling her inside the shop. They leave behind a smirking Bow and Glimmer; Catra had been made to believe that Bow, at least, was all midriff and no trousers, but she is very quickly realising this was an error in judgment. 

“Do any of you guys understand personal space,” Catra grumbles as she’s dragged insistently towards the other end of the garage; she can see Melog waiting for her, and she smiles in spite of herself.

“Nope, never heard of it,” Adora says brightly, but she lets go of Catra’s arm now that they’ve reached her car - and there goes that sense of loss again. She ignores the feeling and moves forward eagerly, running her hands over Melog’s roof before ducking her head through the open window to survey the interior.

“I hope you’re as good as you think you are,” Catra murmurs, flicking her eyes over to Adora for a split second before they’re drawn back to the car.

“Why don’t you find out?”

And if _that_ isn’t a question Catra wants to explore. In detail. Somewhere private.

She ‘hm’s but doesn’t look at Adora, just pulls back so she can open the car door, sliding into the driver’s seat; the key’s in the ignition and the noise the engine makes when she starts it up is just… bliss. She lets out a pleased sigh, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back, just for a moment. The insistent rumble all around her is honestly the best sound in the world.

“Told you.” Catra’s eyes spring open and Adora’s stupid smug face is alarmingly close to hers, those distractingly toned arms resting against the bottom of the open window. She looks pretty pleased with herself, and her eyes are crinkled up just a little at the edges, and Catra finds herself saying-

“So, are you coming with me then?” Adora raises her eyebrows in surprise. The smug look is gone, replaced by something much harder to read.

“Technically I’m working right now,” she says slowly - but that’s not a no, really. Catra can handle ‘no’. Adora wants to be convinced.

“Y’know, I think I heard somewhere that the customer’s always right,” Catra says smoothly, leaning forward minutely and watching in pleased surprise as Adora’s breath quickens. She’s not a saint by any stretch of the imagination, so yeah - she’s definitely going to be thinking on that later. Alone. “And _this_ customer thinks you should get in the car so you can see what Melog’s really capable of.” 

Apparently that’s all it takes.

Catra takes them to a nearby airfield, long since abandoned, and drinks up the look of delighted wonder on Adora’s face as they rumble to a stop in front of the concrete strip. She used to come out here even before she got out of Weaver’s clutches; she didn’t have Melog then, but she’d jack whatever car she could find in a rough neighbourhood and take it for a spin here. She’d always return the cars, but maybe a couple of them had needed new tyres after she was finished with them. 

Yeah - really _not_ a saint. But not irredeemable, she hopes.

Then Catra’s revving the engine and Adora’s delighted laughter doubles in volume as they streak across the concrete, Melog’s purr growing into a roar as Catra relentlessly pushes the needle higher. Unlike Scorpia, Adora seems to revel in the speed, one hand pressed against the roof of the car as she shrieks her encouragement; Catra’s laughing too, and even when she’s forced to slow down by the rapidly approaching edge of the airfield, she feels lighter than air.

“So,” Adora says over the gentle rumble of the idling engine. “What’s the verdict? Everything you hoped for?” Catra looks over at the insane, beautiful woman smiling warmly in her passenger seat, and doesn’t fight the soppy grin that creeps onto her face.

“Princess, you have no idea.”

This time Catra lets herself believe that the flush on Adora’s cheeks has nothing to do with the sun.

* * *

It’s a week after their impromptu trip to the airfield - and subsequent chewing out by Sparkles - when Catra is pulled from sleep by the buzzing of her phone. Disoriented and dry mouthed, she assumes at first that someone’s calling her; why else would it be buzzing so _incessantly_? After fumbling around for her phone and thumbing clumsily at the unlock button, it takes her a moment to realise it’s actually just a whole bunch of texts. 

Like ten of them. Sent seconds apart.

**From: Adora**

_R u awake?_

_Wake up_

_Wake uuuuup_

_WE HAVE PLANS_

_U didnt no about these plans but u do now_

_I no u had a shift last night_

_But this is important_

_Pls respond_

**From: AFAF**

_ARE YOU DEAD_

_Catra, I am invested in your wellbeing, please respond_

_Do I need to call the police? An ambulance? Deliveroo???_

_I know how you get without food_

**From: unknown number**

_I would just like to confirm that I had nothing to do with any of this_

_But also it would be nice if you’d respond to Bow because he’s talking about calling the emergency services_

_And also Adora, because she just looks sad. It’s unbearable_

Catra saves the unknown number under ‘Glitter Demon’ then thumbs back to Adora’s texts, pressing the phone icon next to her contact information. She does _not_ have the coordination for texting right now.

“ _Catra! You’re awake!”_ Adora answers after only a couple of rings, and she sounds insanely chirpy for - Catra checks the clock and groans - 8.30am on a Saturday.

“Yeah, I am _now_ ,” she says testily, rubbing her eyes and debating whether or not friendship is really worth giving up her lazy Saturday mornings for. She flushes slightly on recalling what she’d usually do when dragged from sleep earlier than expected at the weekend; surely that’s more _fun_.

_“Oh, did I wake you up? Damn, sorry - I kind of thought you might be an early riser?”_

“I have no idea what gave you that impression.”

 _“Well I mean, there must be_ some _time in the day when you’re nice to other people.”_ Adora’s tone is teasing and Catra snorts involuntarily.

“Yeah, no. Scientists have yet to discover such a phenomenon. You wanna tell me why I have like a hundred texts from you saddos?”

 _“We’re going to the beach and we wanted to invite you! Bow said to tell you there’ll be ice cream, and also that crop tops are mandatory.”_ Catra blinks slowly, feeling a familiar heat coiling in the base of her spine at the thought of Adora in beachwear. She drops her voice, just a little; lets the roughness of sleep carry through the receiver.

“Oh yeah, princess? That depends… What’ll _you_ be wearing?” Catra actually _hears_ Adora swallow then, and she presses her thighs together against the pressure building there. Mornings are always her weakest moments, and her higher brain functions take a backseat to a very different set of needs.

“ _Catra_ ,” Adora says in lieu of an answer, and Catra’s brain might be a little syrupy this morning, but she sounds a little wrecked.

“Hey, Adora,” she sing-songs in response, all thoughts of sleep now completely forgotten; she trails the hand not holding her phone over the exposed skin of her stomach, letting her nails catch slightly and closing her eyes against a full-body shiver.

_“We’ll um… pick you up around 10?”_

“I’ll be here,” Catra says, and she’s slipping a hand inside her underwear before she’s even hung up the phone.

* * *

By the time Bow rocks up in his pristine SUV, Catra’s already waiting outside the apartment block, beach bag slung over one shoulder and shades firmly in place. Sparkles is sitting pride of place in the front passenger seat, literal rose tinted glasses perched on her nose and wearing some kind of floral kaftan. Bow is wearing a crop top printed with blindingly bright palm trees, and he somehow has a matching pair of board shorts. Catra’s not sure where these people shop but she is, at the very least, impressed by their dedication to a theme.

Catra jumps in the back and glances over at Adora as she buckles her seatbelt, letting a shit-eating grin come over her face.

“Hey, Adora.” She’s gratified to see a flush immediately start to spread high on Adora’s annoyingly perfect cheekbones. She’s wearing a battered Letterman jacket - which figures - so Catra is at least spared any immediate embarrassment that might come of being stuck in a car with a half naked sun goddess.

“Catra,” she replies, eyes seeming to dart involuntarily over Catra’s body - which is _gratifying_. “You look nice?” Glimmer snorts from the front seat and Adora rolls her eyes, relaxing a little. “Well I don’t wanna be like ‘hey, nice bikini’ but you know - it’s a nice bikini?” It’s kind of a boring bikini, if Catra’s being totally honest with herself; the fact that she owns a swimsuit at all is kind of nuts, given her mistrust of open water. The only one she has is this one, which is black and burgundy, and it isn’t anything to write home about. She’s thrown a faded black kimono over the top to stave off the inevitability of burnt shoulders for as long as possible, and her sandals were probably black at some point too, but are scuffed to the point of being dark grey.

“You told me my tankini was ‘bitching’ then high-fived me like ten minutes ago,” Glimmer points out, and that flush on Adora’s face starts to spread down her neck.

“ _Bitchin’?_ ” Catra cackles, turning slightly in her seat to face Adora more fully. “Are you a time traveler? Did you come here from the 80s to remind us how fucking awful the lingo was?”

“I just finished season 2 of _Stranger Things_ ,” Adora admits, sinking down lower in her seat in a way that makes her jacket fall open just a little bit. Catra’s mouth goes dry. “I didn’t realise it was going to _ruin my entire day_ , but apparently I need to not open my mouth ever.” Catra looks determinedly away from Adora’s abs, which continue to have their own gravitational pull, and leans forward conspiratorially.

“It’s okay if you like my costume more,” she faux whispers, and Glimmer’s outraged cry and subsequent detailed argument for tankinis over bikinis fuels their conversation all the way to the coast.

* * *

Bow has, predictably, brought a picnic. Adora is, also predictably, trying to get at the food already.

“You can’t _eat_ then _swim_ ,” Bow says, horrified, as Adora tries and fails to sneak past him to where the cooler sits tantalisingly in the open trunk.

“Yeah, Adora,” Catra says smugly, lounging back in one of the folding chairs Bow _also_ thoughtfully provided, lazily rubbing sunscreen into her arms and legs. “Think you can relax for five minutes?” Okay so Catra’s still kind of coasting on this morning’s orgasm, but she is absolutely going to pretend she’s this chill all the time. That is her _constitutional right_.

Adora pointedly ignores Catra in favour of continuing to whine at Bow about “needing sustenance” and “dying of hunger” - which is a total lie, because they literally stopped at McDonald’s on the way here. Adora’d had two McMuffins, five hash browns, and a giant milkshake, all while eyeing up everyone else’s food. It had been terrifying to witness.

Catra hands the sunscreen over to Sparkles, who settled in the chair next to hers with a trashy romance novel and a look of absolute glee the moment they arrived. She takes the sunscreen with a nod of thanks, and Catra closes her eyes, letting the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves wash over her. This is relaxing. She feels _relaxed_.

And then her phone goes off, a simple buzz where it’s resting against her thigh, and she jumps.

 _So relaxing_.

**From: Scorpia**

_WILDCAT YOUR ROOM IS EMPTY AND IT'S NOT EVEN 11AM ON A SATURDAY, HAVE YOU BEEN KIDNAPPED, HOLD ON I'M COMING, JUST TELL ME WHERE THEY’VE TAKEN YOU_

Catra sighs heavily.

**To: Scorpia**

_I’m at the beach, moron. You should come. Bring Entrapta - tell her there’s tiny food or that it’s a social experiment or something._

**From: Scorpia**

_OH MY GOD ARE YOU THERE WITH ADORA? THIS IS AMAZING - WHAT A DEVELOPMENT! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU, WE’LL BE THERE IN LIKE HALF AN HOUR_

_I LOVE YOU_

_PLEASE DON’T DROWN BEFORE I GET THERE_

_WEAR SUNSCREEN_

**To: Scorpia**

_Please stop._

“Scorpia and Entrapta are coming,” Catra says to the group at large, closing her eyes again and slumping a little further down in her chair. “If you didn’t bring any party games, prepare to have new games _made up at you_.” Bow has managed to close the trunk without Adora getting her hands on more snacks she doesn’t need; he’s also managed to force her into a chair, before taking one himself, and he gladly takes the sunscreen Glimmer’s holding out to him.

“Ooh, we get to meet your other friends?” he asks excitedly, squirting an unreasonable amount of sunscreen into his hand before throwing the bottle at Adora; she, predictably, catches it without looking up, then blinks at her own hand in confusion. Reflexes? Check. Self-awareness? Pending.

“Adora already knows Entrapta from college,” Catra says with a shrug. “But yeah, I guess.” Nerves have crept into her voice, she knows, and she hates it; her stomach feels weird and she doesn’t really know why. Scorpia is the nicest person in existence - except maybe Perfuma - and you never know what you’re going to get with Entrapta, so there’s no point in stressing out about it.

“So we get all the gossip on like, pre-auto shop Catra?” Glimmer asks curiously, surfacing from her shitty book to put her finger slap bang at the centre of the issue Catra probably has with this whole situation.

Catra, historically? Not a great friend. Not a great _person_ really, too hurt and full of anger to do anything except push people away and start fights with strangers over nothing at all. She’d slept in her car for months before Scorpia caught wind of what was happening and made a game plan, roping in Entrapta because she knew Catra needed _socialising_. Like a fucking stray cat or something.

Scorpia knew her when she was all fire and fists, before she was old enough to get out of Weaver’s claws for good; she’d been a foster kid herself, but luckier, homed with a family who supported her and let her grow. Catra had festered, and Scorpia hadn’t deserved the shit Catra’d thrown at her, but she’d forgiven her. Every time.

And Entrapta? She knew just about as much, though it didn’t bother her. They were friends, and Entrapta would probably blow up the sun to protect those she cared about (well, mostly for fun, but _also_ to protect those she cared about) - but she didn’t really get social stuff. Like maybe she _shouldn’t_ go blabbing to these brand new people about Catra’s numerous breakdowns.

So yeah. Relaxed feelings _gone_.

“Sorry, Sparkles,” Catra says breezily, calm in a way she doesn’t feel right now. “You have to be at least a level 5 friend to unlock my tragic backstory.” Adora does one of her dumb snorting laughs, and maybe Catra relaxes just a little bit. Not much though.

The conversation, thankfully, turns to beach-appropriate activities.

“You guys can do whatever you want,” Adora’s saying petulantly, staring determinedly out to sea. “I wanna go surfing.”

“Adora, the last time you tried surfing you nearly drowned,” Glimmer says - absolutely fucking _brutally_ , in Catra’s opinion - without looking up from her book. “We almost had to get the Coast Guard out. It was very distressing.” Glimmer does not look distressed in the slightest.

“Yeah okay, I’m gonna need to hear a little more about that,” Catra cackles, and she sees Sparkles smirking a bit from behind her book. A week ago, she was ready to punch Barbie in the face, but now Catra knows she’s this _vicious_ … The friendship is worth exploring, is all she’s saying.

“That was three years ago,” Adora says huffily and, unfortunately, chooses that moment - Catra’s attention back on her - to remove her jacket in the rising heat.

Catra is distantly glad she took the edge off this morning, because this is going to be _hard_.

Adora’s wearing cropped board shorts that, on anyone else, would probably be loose around the tops of the thighs. But no. Catra isn’t allowed that small mercy. Instead, these shorts wrap around the top few inches of Adora’s glorious legs like they’re painted on, all glistening white with gold accents. The top half is, as usual, even worse; the high-necked bikini, while at least having the decency to completely cover Adora’s cleavage, tapers at the throat in a way that only serves to emphasise her strong shoulders.

Then of course there’s the bit in-between the tops and the bottoms, which Catra is really desperately trying not to think about. That whole area featured quite heavily in her fantasies like… an hour ago. And, if she’s honest with herself, pretty much every day since she first stepped into Moonstone; she can feel her traitorous body trying to react, which is entirely her own fault for _indulging it_.

Adora’s rubbing in sunscreen like she isn’t ruining Catra’s entire life with every swipe of her hand, and then she’s sighing in frustration and holding the bottle back out to Bow.

“Urgh, can you get my back? Pleeeease? Last time I missed loads and got the weirdest burn pattern.” Bow is about to take the bottle from her when he hesitates. His eyes meet Catra’s behind her sunglasses. An unspoken conversation happens between them in the following few seconds, which goes something like this:

_I have an idea._

_No. Don’t you fucking dare. I will kill you. I know how to get rid of the body. Nobody will ever find you._

_Okay but how about this - you won’t?_

_You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. I will run you over with my car._

_Too late, it’s happening._

_Bow, no-_

“Sorry,” Bow says with a _completely fake_ smile of apology, as he quickly leans down and presses his hands to the sand. He lifts them up to show them around, his brows drawn together in a vile mockery of concern. “Sandy hands. Why don’t you ask Catra to do it?”

Catra is going to murder him. She’s going to throw his body into the sea. He’s going to be eaten by various terrifying creatures of the deep and Catra will not be sad _at all_.

Adora gives Bow a weird look then shrugs, offering the sunscreen to Catra with a hopeful expression. “Do you mind? I got like, weird red wings last time. It was awful.” Catra knows she hasn’t always been the best person; she’s stolen a few cars, broken several traffic laws (repeatedly), and even one time yelled at Scorpia. She’s done some bad things, is what she’s getting at.

She’s still not sure she deserves _this_.

She swallows and takes the bottle with a curt nod, because what else can she do? Bow looks absolutely delighted, and she can feel Glimmer peering at her curiously over the top of her book, pretending like she’s not avidly watching Catra’s slow descent into madness.

“Fine. Turn around, idiot.” Adora doesn’t react to the half-hearted insult at all, smiling gratefully and turning away so that Catra is faced with the broad expanse of her stupid, toned back. This is _ridiculous_. They probably don’t even need car jacks at the garage because they have Adora’s muscles on their side. Do they own a tow truck? Probably not - they just get Adora to _manually pull the cars in from the roadside._

Catra bites the bullet and squeezes some sunscreen into her palm, shuffling out of her chair so she can calmly and methodically apply it to Adora’s back. It’s absolutely fine, and not erotic in the slightest. She’s just being _helpful_ , and if her own breathing stutters just a little bit when she reaches those broad, tightly muscled shoulders, it is absolutely _nobody’s business._

“I think you’ve probably got it all, Catra,” Bow says mildly, and Catra is suddenly aware that she doesn’t know how long she’s been doing this; she pulls her hands away from Adora’s skin like she’s been burned and retreats back into the safety of her chair.

“Thanks,” Adora says, her own face a little pink already. This woman burns like it’s going out of style, Catra has no idea why she likes her so much.

“Yeah, whatever - I don’t wanna be responsible for Melog’s favourite mechanic being out of commission just because she can’t handle the weather,” Catra bites back, but Adora’s used to her already - whenever the hell _that_ happened, Catra doesn’t know - and she snorts out a laugh as she flops back into her chair.

“I’m literally the only mechanic Melog knows. You sure I’m not _your_ favourite mechanic?” Adora asks slyly, waggling her eyebrows. Catra rolls her eyes, which is kind of pointless because she’s wearing sunglasses, but y’know - it’s the thought that counts.

“In your dreams, princess. Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I _like_ you or anything.”

(Catra likes her _so much_.)

“Yeah! Besides, Catra _totally_ likes me best - right, Catra?” Bow interrupts, and he’s smiling in a way that would probably be horribly endearing, if Catra wasn’t plotting his death in excruciating detail. Her current plan involves piranhas.

“Sparkles takes the top spot, actually,” Catra replies casually, stretching her legs out and pushing her feet into the sand. Glimmer “ha!”s triumphantly from beside her, flipping the bird at Bow and Adora before smugly going back to her book.

“Hey, what did _I_ do?” Adora asks, and the look of hurt on her face would be more believable if she wasn’t clutching a hand to her chest like an Austen heroine.

“You woke me up before 9am on a Saturday,” she says darkly, kicking sand halfheartedly at Adora’s shins.

“And me?” Bow asks, eyebrows raised. Catra glares at him.

“You know what you did,” she hisses, and she’s saved any further questioning by the foghorn-esque voice of Scorpia booming across the beach.

“Hey, guys! We’re here! Oh wow, it is _such_ a nice day.” Scorpia’s waving and Catra laughs in spite of herself. One of the first things she started working on with Perfuma when she admitted she needed help was appreciating the people around her; Scorpia will always be just a little bit too good - too _nice_ \- for Catra to truly deserve her friendship, but she lets herself be greedy sometimes.

“Hey,” Catra calls back, pushing her sunglasses onto her head and lazily saluting her approaching friends. Entrapta is almost vibrating with excitement, her hands burdened with a cooler that Catra expects is full of a lot of very small food items. She’s wearing a wetsuit, for some reason, and honestly? Catra doesn’t know what she was expecting. She’s probably brought snorkeling gear. Scorpia’s in a black one piece and a floaty red cover-up, and she looks positively _delighted_ to be here.

“Hey Catra. Adora. People who aren’t Catra and Adora,” Entrapta says when she reaches their little group, beaming at everyone as she puts down the cooler. “I brought _tiny popsicles_.” Catra stands up with a long-suffering sigh to do introductions and is immediately swept up in one of Scorpia’s trademark bone crushing hugs.

“I thought you’d been kidnapped by nefarious, unsavoury brutes,” Scorpia says in her ear, slightly tearfully. Also _very loudly_. Catra winces and struggles out of her grip, then pats her on the arm a couple of times in what she hopes is a consoling manner.

“Entrapta’s had the front door boobytrapped on and off for months, so I’m really not sure how that would’ve happened but okay. Everything’s fine.” Scorpia nods, a little reproachful, and then immediately brightens up when she remembers where they are.

“Hey, everyone - I’m Scorpia!”

“Scorpia, this is Glitter-”

“It’s _Glimmer_ and you _know it_ -”

“And Bow’s the one with the deceptively innocent eyes over there,” Catra continues, ignoring Glimmer’s muttering and Bow’s offended gasp. “And this is Adora.” She indicates the final person in their group without looking at her, then quickly adds- “She’s a mechanic. They’re all mechanics. Except Sparkles over here, who I _think_ might just hang around the shop hoping the insane musculature is contagious.”

“Urgh, I _own_ the shop,” Glimmer says, standing up with an eye roll that isn’t at all effective, since Catra can see her biting back a smile. She shakes Scorpia’s hand, and the gesture is returned with such enthusiasm that Glimmer looks very briefly out of breath.

“Guys, this is Entrapta,” Catra continues, waving a hand in Entrapta’s direction. Predictably, she’s already snapped on a pair of goggles and is rummaging in her backpack for a snorkel; she looks up briefly at the sound of her name, eyes slightly distorted and made comically large by the plastic.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Catra points at Bow and Glimmer and repeats their names slowly (and _properly_ this time), and Entrapta nods. “ _Got it_. Don’t mind me, guys, I’ve just gotta- A-HA!” She pulls a snorkel triumphantly out of her backpack and a second later she’s gone, dashing towards the sea with a cry of what sounds like “science!”

Glimmer and Bow look slightly concerned, but Adora’s laughing, pulling her dirty blonde hair free of its ponytail as she stands up.

“Someone’s gotta make sure she doesn’t hurt herself,” she says with a blindingly bright grin, before dashing off after Entrapta. Catra forces her mouth closed, but she doesn’t actually look away from the receding figure. She just really isn’t _that_ good of a person yet.

* * *

They play volleyball - because of course they do. They’re at the beach, why wouldn’t they play volleyball? Scorpia brought a literal _entire_ volleyball net, and yet completely neglected to bring sunscreen after lecturing Catra about her own. Unbelievable.

“You’re gonna burn,” Catra says conversationally as they put up the net, Bow and Glimmer helping her and Scorpia roll it out and root it in the sand. “This happens every time. Why are you like this?”

“Aw, thanks for worrying about me, Wildcat! I’ll be fine,” Scorpia says fondly, completely missing the point as she puts up their side of the net almost entirely by herself; Catra had half-heartedly tried to help but really, Scorpia doesn’t need her. She rolls her eyes and is about to counter with some argument about _the sun literally giving you cancer_ when Adora comes bounding up to them, Entrapta trailing behind with an almost manic grin on her face.

Adora has been in the sea. This is obvious because she is soaking wet. They’re at the beach, Catra reminds herself; it’s reasonable to expect that people are going to go into the sea and come out looking a little less dry. Everything is fine.

Even if the sun is glinting off the water rivulets on Adora’s abs.

All fine.

“Entrapta found a bunch of weird sea creatures and one of them had like _twelve legs_ ,” Adora gushes, reaching up to wring out her hair in a way that makes the muscles in her arms shift beautifully. Catra feels like she’s drowning.

“Oh wow, that’s great! Sounds like you guys had fun,” Scorpia says with a broad grin, dusting off her hands and getting to her feet after securing the net.

“Adora is an acceptable research partner,” Entrapta agrees, pulling off her goggles and throwing them down next to her cooler of tiny snacks. She waves around a small underwater camera that Catra hadn’t noticed before. “Loads of great pictures, Catra, I can’t _wait_ to get into your dark room.” Adora turns to raise her eyebrows at Catra.

“You have a _dark room_?” Catra shrugs and swallows against the dryness in her mouth, trying to harden herself against the fluttering want low in her belly.

“I used to be into photography. Converted the hall closet into a dark room.” She shrugs again - smirks a little, just to right herself. “Why, are you offering to model for me, princess?” Adora’s face is immediately overtaken by a blush, and Catra could have gone her entire life without knowing that she flushes down to her goddamn shoulders.

“If you guys are done flirting, Bow and I are ready to kick your asses,” Glimmer calls over to them, and Catra feels her own face heating up. Nobody was meant to _call her out_ on this. Ever. She was just going to vague-flirt with Adora until one or both of them _died_ and be _satisfied_ with that.

“Who’s flirting?” Entrapta asks guilelessly, looking up from whatever scientific journal she’s saturating with sea water to stare curiously up at the group. Catra points a threatening finger at her.

“Absolutely _no-one_ ,” she growls. She pulls her kimono back on as aggressively as possible, tying it at the waist, and kicks off her flip-flops. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and hit a volleyball directly into Sparkles’ face.”

She can feel Adora’s eyes on her as she marches past, her own eyes steadfastly forward, and Glimmer has the good sense to start running before Catra gets to the net.

* * *

Once the desire to murder Glimmer abates (which just _happens_ to coincide with the pastel-haired demon falling face-first into the ocean), they do eventually get around to playing volleyball. Entrapta is dragged away from her periodical to even up the numbers, and she joins Scorpia and Catra as they face-off against the remaining members of the Crop Top Squad.

(Catra’s really tried to stop calling them that in her head, but it’s too late now. They’re pulling her into their insane orbit and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

She isn’t sure she wants to stop it.)

“Okay, so we’re all happy with the rules?” Sparkles is saying authoritatively - which is _funny_ because she’s _really small_ \- and Catra rolls her eyes. She’s horrified to realise it feels more good-natured than sarcastic.

“Fucking _delighted_ , Glitz,” Catra drawls, “now could we get on with this before Adora decides to start eating the sand?” 

“Hey!” Adora yells, hands on her hips. “I’m not a preschooler!”

“No,” Catra says slowly, cocking her head to the side. “You’re a fully grown adult with the metabolism of a WWE wrestler and the self-control of a heavily concussed toddler. The sooner we play, the sooner we kick your asses, the sooner you eat. Logic.” Adora groans in frustration and yup - Catra’s keeping that one for later. She has no shame anymore.

“C’mon guys - let’s _murder_ this trash talker.”

Oh, it is _on_.

The match is predictably violent, but much to Catra’s surprise she actually finds herself enjoying it. She used to love sports when she was in school; she wasn’t as strong as a lot of the other kids, but she was fast and wily, which counted for a lot in team sports. She also used to fight dirty.

That hasn’t really changed.

“That was a _foul_ ,” Glimmer positively screams at Catra from the other side of the net, where she’s clutching her knee a _tiny bit dramatically_. Catra _may_ have aimed for her leg pretty hard but like... She’ll be fine. It’s probably not broken. “This is not _dodgeball!_ ”

“I’m still kind of waiting to be murdered over here, Sparkles,” she replies with a grin, shrugging and letting her eyes wander over to Adora.

Adora, who is literally running towards her right now, eyes glinting with something exceedingly dangerous and-

“Fucking _shit_ -” Adora takes her down like Catra’s made of goddamn air; they both slide a couple of feet in the sand and Catra abruptly realises she’s already laughing, if a little hysterically. She’s just been rugby tackled to the ground by the bikini-wearing mechanic she wants to fuck into next week, and the only thing she can think is that these people are _so ridiculous_ and she likes them _so much._ They can never know. “Oh my god,” she says to the warm, angry weight on top of her, flinging her arms out into the sand above her and stretching with a little wiggle. “It’s like being friends with a sexier version of the Hulk.”

Which isn’t what she meant to say, actually.

She looks up at Adora, haloed in the light from the early afternoon sun, her golden hair slightly sweaty and a _lot_ messy, and just for a second enjoys the dumb smile that appears on the other woman’s face. Catra’s probably smiling too, and she wishes it was a smirk but she knows full well that it isn’t; she’s definitely looking fond right now. Adora leans down very slowly, until she’s a scant couple of inches from Catra’s face, and that dumb smile suddenly blooms into something a little more feral.

“ _Smash_.”

Then blunt fingertips are digging into Catra’s bare sides and she’s screeching with horrified laughter as Adora tickles the life out of her.

“Get _off_ me you - ah! - you _psychopath_ ,” she screams, trying desperately to wriggle out of Adora’s grip to no avail; she tries to tickle her back but she’s _immune_ or something which isn’t _fair_.

“You have to apologise to Glimmer,” Adora says, pretty primly for someone who’s currently making a scene on a public beach.

“I would rather - ah no no no - I’ll _die_ first, autoshop scum!” And for that, Adora redoubles her efforts; Catra is crying with laughter by the time someone takes pity on her and drags Adora away, and she’s still giggling a little breathlessly for a minute or so afterwards. Catra wipes her eyes and props herself up on her elbows to see Scorpia and Bow pulling her attacker away, the latter looking incredibly smug and the former as affable as ever. Adora’s grinning triumphantly.

“You may have been spared this time,” she says grandly. “But next time you may not be so lucky - I know your weakness now.” Catra grins, slow and sweet. There’s very little fight left in her to be honest, and she’s a little tired of not going for what she wants.

“You know what, Adora? I think you just might be starting to get the idea.” Catra could swear Adora’s eyes glaze over just a little bit, but then Glimmer’s yelling-

“Hey assholes! If you’re done over there, I’m starving.”

And it’s forgotten, for now… But Catra has plans for that look. She has a feeling that, for once in her life, Melog might have done _her_ a favour.

* * *

Three weeks and seven furious first places later and Catra is just about at the end of her tether. She’s almost driven Melog into the ground - _again_ \- and she knows she’s going to have to take it to Adora but she can’t think of anything worse right now.

Since the beach, absolutely _nothing_ has happened. Catra is going out of her fucking _mind_. Oh sure, there’s been the usual banter and ridiculous flirting, and they all meet up as friends (because Catra has a whole bunch of those now, apparently), but she thought she’d felt something shift lying in the sand - and sweet FA has come of it. She can’t watch Adora bowling a perfect score again with her perfect arms, and if one of the Crop Top Squad asks her if she’s coming to movie night this week she’s going to _shank them._ ‘Hey Catra, wanna sit in the dark next to the unfairly hot woman you’re mooning over for two hours?’

No. She really doesn’t.

Still. She closes her eyes and thinks of the unpleasant grinding noises Melog was making as she powered it over the finish line last night. She opens her eyes.

“Fuck,” she says to nobody in particular.

And then she gets dressed.

* * *

Adora is rummaging under the hood of an antique-looking Ford when Catra enters through the back of the shop; she knows better than to park Melog out front, unless she’s looking for a showdown with Sparkles. Which, you know, she sometimes is. Today she’s just trying to get through this without dying on the spot from a combination of sexual frustration and her usual bone-deep anger.

(The anger is getting harder to call up on demand now though, which she supposes is a good thing, but it’s a little bit like having her security blanket ripped away if she’s honest.)

She slinks up behind Adora, who is wearing a grubby tank top and those ripped grey jeans again, which… doesn’t help. Really, she shouldn’t have come at her from this angle. Or any angle really. All her angles are good angles.

Catra needs to leave, this was a stupid idea.

She debates with herself for a split second too long, because Adora’s suddenly standing up straight, stretching a little to compensate for the time spent hunched over an engine, and turning around. Her face lights up when she sees Catra standing there, which is just… so not what she’s here for. Honestly.

“Catra! Hey! Melog giving you trouble again?” Catra swallows. She can absolutely talk to this person like a human. They’re both humans; that gives her the _edge_.

“Ran him down a little in the race yesterday,” she says, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and curling them into fists as she shrugs. “Still got first but if I pull that shit again I’m gonna be left with a hunk of flaming metal.” Adora snorts, grinning.

“I’m imagining you and the wheels just…” She makes a whooshing noise and thrusts her hand out to indicate the cartoonish continuation of Catra without most of her car. Catra feels her mouth twitch into the beginnings of a smile.

“Yeah, that’s why I need you to look at him when you’ve got the time. I can pay you.” Adora shakes her head again.

“Are you kidding? I love Melog like my own child by this point.” Oh no, that makes Catra feel things; she takes a step towards Adora like she’s being pulled there.

“Are you… Are you doing anything this weekend?” Who said that? Did Catra say that? It kind of sounded like she said that, which was very much not the plan. Maybe all this therapy is a front and Perfuma is actually performing some kind of _mind control_ experiments on her.

“What, like, ‘the Squad’?” Adora asks, eyebrows raised.

“I can hear the quotation marks - cut it out,” Catra replies with a huff of breath. Adora’s grin comes back and it makes Catra feel hot and irritable. Or hot and _something_. “Literally just you. I get you’re kind of all joined at the hip, but I presume you’re occasionally allowed out by yourself. Unless you need them for protection or something? You do walk into a lot of stuff.” Adora flushes indignantly.

“I’m easily distracted,” she admits, folding those ridiculous arms across her chest. She leans back against the car. “Anyway yeah, I’m free this weekend. What did you have in mind?” Catra takes another couple of steps closer, because she no longer has any control over her body, apparently.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’d kind of like to eat you out until you cry.”

Or her mouth.

Adora’s own mouth drops open just a little, and it shouldn’t be attractive but it _is_ and Catra is so fucked. She should just leave - maybe move to Monaco. She speaks passable French, and she doesn’t know how to say as many truly mortifying things in other languages, so it’s probably safer for everyone. Catra goes to take a step back, but Adora’s hand immediately flies to her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She looks flushed and unfairly beautiful, which obviously leads to Catra saying really dumb shit, so she needs to _stop looking like that_.

“Catra-”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Catra interrupts, really not wanting to hear the ‘just friends’ speech right now. Or ever. “Clearly my therapist is doing a really shitty job with me - I should leave. Now.”

But Adora’s just shaking her head and reeling Catra back in by her wrist, pulling her until she’s practically between Adora’s legs; their faces are close now - close enough that Catra can see the smudge of grease below the other woman’s ear, and feel her next, shaky exhalation.

“You haven’t even _kissed_ me.”

And - _oh_. Adora looks a little scared, a little off-balance - a lot hopeful. The vice around Catra’s heart loosens slightly and she feels a rare, genuine smile forming on her face.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says breathlessly, unbearably fond, then she leans in and presses their mouths together.

Catra’s kissed people before; she’s not a fucking nun, alright. But kissing Adora makes her feel like maybe she hasn’t - like maybe this is new, or at least different; like living something in real time versus looking at a shaky photograph. She steadies herself on those ridiculous, beautiful shoulders and kisses Adora like this is the only chance she’ll ever get; Adora presses back just as urgently, one hand gripping the back of Catra’s neck while the other slips beneath her shirt to curve around the bare skin of her hip. Catra melts into the touch, hands grazing Adora’s shoulders to link behind her head, pulling herself in tighter to her orbit. She wants to stay here forever, pressed against Adora and memorising every hot, wet drag of their mouths against each other.

And she would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling kids.

“I’m happy for you, really, but there are _children_ present.” The sound of Glimmer’s voice has the - probably desired - effect of dumping a proverbial bucket of iced water over Catra’s head. She pulls away from Adora like she’s been burned, the only thing stopping her from hot-footing it to the other end of the garage being the vice-like grip Adora still has on her hip. That’s probably going to leave a bruise. Catra swallows. Hard.

Then she tunes into a second, unfamiliar voice.

“Oh my _gooood_ , Glimmer! I’m sixteen years old - which means I’m basically an adult!” That wakes Catra up a little, and she twists in Adora’s grip to get a better look at whatever child is under the mistaken impression that being sixteen means you’re a grown-up. Catra’s in her 20s and _she_ isn’t a grown-up yet. Get in fucking _line_.

The girl in question is positively tiny - even smaller than Sparkles, which has Catra doing a double-take - but everything about her screams ‘looking for a fight’. She looks younger than her years, but there’s something hard in her eyes that says she’s a fighter; her fists are clenched at her sides and she’s glaring absolute daggers at Glimmer.

“Who’s the pipsqueak?” Catra drawls, twisting a little further into Adora’s grip so she can keep one arm around her shoulders, while facing the battlefield more fully. The girl _growls_ ; just like Glimmer, this kid has absolutely _no_ idea how Catra reacts to hilariously misplaced aggression. It’s like a red rag to an incredibly sarcastic bull. “I know I made a joke about child labour laws when we first met, Sparkles, but should I be like, _actually_ worried?”

“This is Frosta,” Glimmer says quickly, before the girl in question can leap at Catra’s throat like she so _clearly_ wants to. “She’s an apprentice, and a friend of the family. She’s also a black belt, so maybe you should try _not_ to piss her off for sport?” Catra gasps and clasps her free hand to her chest in a parody of shock. 

“Hey Glitz, you sure you should be swearing in front of her? She might _repeat the bad words_.” Glimmer’s sigh is probably audible from space, and Frosta’s face is actually starting to go a little purple. Adora headbutts her on the shoulder in warning and Catra dials down her snark just a little. “Okay, I’m done I swear. Frosta, welcome to the madhouse. You sure about this? There’s still time to get out. There are probably other garages with people who don’t think crop tops are the basis of a life-long friendship.” Bow actually gives Catra a cheerful thumbs up from where he’s working on a tan Buick. She hadn’t even realised he was _there_.

“I wasn’t told they’d hired a freaking clown,” Frosta growls, arms now crossed over her chest; her face seems to be fading to a more normal shade now though, which is probably good. Kids her age shouldn’t have blood pressure problems. Catra smiles with all her teeth.

“Oh, I don’t work here. I’m actually a _prisoner_. This? This is Stockholm Syndrome.”

“ _Catra_ ,” Adora says reproachfully, but she’s shaking a little bit with suppressed laughter, so Catra doesn’t take the warning particularly seriously. She does let go of Adora though, ignoring how it feels like she’s cutting off her own arm in the process, and shoves her hands back in her pockets; Adora’s hand drops from her hip, and Catra doesn’t think she’s imagining the reluctance in the gesture.

“Anyway, I’d better split before I start World War 3 in here. I will _walk_ ,” she says firmly, this time letting her eyes slide over to Adora. Catra purposefully lets her eyes drop to Adora’s mouth for a couple of beats before meeting her eyes again; she doesn’t miss the hitch in the other woman’s breathing, or the slight dilation of her pupils. Catra kind of feels like her entire nervous system has had several thousand volts run through it.

“Don’t step on glass on your way home,” Frosta mutters, perfectly audible even over the sound of whatever the hell Bow is doing to that Buick. Catra snorts - because that was pretty _good_ actually - and turns back to Adora.

“I’ll text you,” she says, voice low.

“Not if I text you first,” Adora retorts, dumb and shining and beautiful as ever in her idiocy.

“Alright, princess - you don’t actually need to fight for my attention. You get that, right?” Adora’s response is to pull her in for a goodbye kiss, which actually lasts for about five minutes, and has Glimmer making _incredibly mature_ retching noises from over by the office. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Adora says when she finally breaks away from Catra’s mouth. “See you this weekend?” Catra’s heart makes a valiant attempt to beat its way into her throat, and she swallows against it.

“Yeah.” And maybe her voice is a little gravelly, but does that really matter?

“Cool. Walk safe. Don’t talk to strangers.” Catra hands over the keys to Melog and then she’s leaving, fighting the overwhelming urge to look over her shoulder as she walks out the front.

She can feel Adora’s eyes on her until she’s out of sight. Five minutes later her phone buzzes, and she slips it out of her pocket with a grin.

**From: Adora**

_Until I cry, huh_

**To: Adora**

_Well not with that attitude._

**From: Adora**

_Just repeating ur words bck 2 u_

**To: Adora**

_You text like a drunk 11 year old, I don’t know why I’m attracted to you._

**From: Adora**

_U r tho_

_U invited me over_

_I remember it preeeeetty well_

_How far away is the wknd??_

**To: Adora**

_It is literally Thursday right now._

**From: Adora**

_Ok. Cool_

_Can I come over friday_

**To: Adora**

_I was gonna make a joke about you being eager, but I think if you don’t come over tomorrow I might break something._

**From: Adora**

_Will b over after work + shower_

_Pls dont break nething_

Just for a second, Catra lets herself imagine Adora turning up straight after work, unwashed. Her hair would be messed up, streaked with engine oil - just like the rest of her. She’d probably be wearing that tank top. She’d be a little sweaty, definitely a little worked up; they might not even make it to the bedroom.

Catra really needs to _walk faster._

**To: Adora**

_Thanks for the visual. Maybe you should call in sick tomorrow. I’m always super horny in the mornings._

**From: Adora**

_Catraaaaaaaa_

**To: Adora**

_Adora._

**From: Adora**

_I cant - gotta show Frosta the ropes_

_Shes so mad @ u_

_She asked y I like u_

**To: Adora**

_Did you tell her it’s because I promised to make you writhe with my tongue?_

**From: Adora**

_CATRA SHE IS A CHILD_

_SHE IS 16_

_ALSO THATS NOT FAIR I HAVE 2 WORK_

**To: Adora**

_Yeah but I don’t. I’ll be home in twenty minutes. Scorpia’s off on a date with my therapist, which is super weird, and Entrapta’s having a sleepover with her creepy lab partner. I’ll probably spend a little time taking the edge off. Nobody’s home so it doesn’t matter how loud I am._

**From: Adora**

_THURSDAY CAN B THE WKND_

_OH LOOK IVE PUT IN A HOLIDAY REQUEST_

_4 TMRW_

_I FINISH IN 2 HRS_

_PLS W8 4 ME_

**To: Adora**

_You know that morning you called me to force me to go to the beach? I started getting myself off before you’d even put the phone down - turns out the sound of your voice really does it for me._

**From: Adora**

_I FINISH IN 1 HR_

**To: Adora**

_Better._

* * *

Forty-five minutes later and Catra has cleaned the entire apartment, showered, and put matching underwear on for the first time in years - though she has high hopes of them being ripped off her in fairly short order. She’s also realised she’s woefully unprepared for visitors in the food department, but they can order pizza or something. She plans for them both to be too worn out to do much else anyway.

When the doorbell finally rings exactly 1 hour and 5 minutes after Adora’s last text, she’s practically vibrating with pent up energy. Catra hadn’t been kidding earlier; she actually _might_ have ended up breaking something if she’d had to wait until tomorrow to get her hands on Adora. She checks her reflection once - because really, her hair is always kind of a mess, and what does it _matter_ anyway - and then makes her way to the front door.

When she opens it, there Adora is, as expected; she looks, for lack of a more robust description, like every wet dream Catra’s had in the last month. Probably even better, actually, because now Catra can reach out and fist her hand in the front of that grease-streaked tank top and _yank Adora into the apartment_.

Adora makes absolutely no objection as she’s pulled inside, managing nothing more than a breathless “hi” as Catra slams the door behind her.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra breathes, and then Adora does what Catra’s been secretly dreaming of since the second she saw her biceps, and lifts her off the ground so she can _press Catra into the wall_. Catra immediately wraps her legs around Adora’s waist with a hiss of breath that may or may not be the word _‘yes’,_ and when their lips meet again it’s like being saved from drowning. She gasps against Adora’s mouth, clutching desperately at her shoulders and sinking her nails into taut muscle to ground herself; she feels like she’s about to float away and she has never been more inclined to stay.

Adora moves down to her neck, kissing a path from the corner of her mouth to her shoulder, and Catra whines at the feeling of teeth scraping across her collar bone.

“God, Catra, you’re just so-” And Catra doesn’t _care_ , okay? She doesn’t care what she is, because she needs Adora to stop fucking talking and _kiss her again_. She makes a noise in the back of her throat that she suspects sounds wildly needy, and drags Adora’s face back up to her own, kissing her with no small degree of urgency. Adora pulls away after a moment and tries again, “Catra-”

“I’m a whole lot of things, Adora, but right now the main one is _insanely horny_ ,” she interrupts with a growl. Adora’s eyes are dark but she grins, slow and sticky like molasses, and Catra realises with a sudden jolt that she is entirely out of her depth. Without taking her eyes off her face, Adora very carefully takes both of Catra’s wrists in her hands; they’re bigger than hers, Catra notices, and that’s about as far as her brain manages to carry that thought because there’s… a lot she can do with that. Her breath catches in her throat as Adora proceeds to drag her arms up above her head, pinning them against the wall and pressing in even closer.

Adora is doing her level best, it would seem, to power through every single, very _specific_ fantasy Catra’s had for the last four weeks.

“I think you can stay still long enough for me to worship my girlfriend for a bit.” Oh no, how did this _happen_ ; she has a girlfriend now apparently, and she’s _evil_. Catra wriggles a little in Adora’s grasp, but she can’t get any friction where she wants it. She groans in frustration and thunks her head back against the wall.

“Girlfriend, huh?” she replies, a little hoarsely, gasping out a breath when Adora’s lips come back to her throat with a pleased hum. “Someone’s a bit um… sure of herself.”

“Just working with what you give me,” Adora says, muffled but audible. She sounds _smug_ and Catra only realises why when a hand starts rucking up her t-shirt.

“Are you pinning me with _one fucking hand_?” Catra might actually die. This is how she’s going to go; her brand new, insanely strong girlfriend pinning her to the wall with her body and literally just _one_ of her _horribly capable hands_. Adora pulls back and when Catra looks up, the grin is just as smug as she’d been expecting. It shouldn’t be attractive but, regrettably, it is.

“It kinda sounds like you’re into that,” Adora says conversationally, her hand now splayed fully across Catra’s bare stomach, her thumb rubbing softly and maddeningly across the skin just above the waistband of her jeans. Catra shudders out a breath and closes her eyes.

“Adora, I’m into the way you _exist_ , for fuck’s sake,” she snaps, and she feels the hand on her stomach go still. “I’m so-” She breaks off with a harsh laugh and opens her eyes so she can glare at the woman who’s been making her life hell for the past month. “I don’t even know how to tell you how into you I am. It’s embarrassing. I am actually, _literally_ embarrassed by how much I want you because I don’t _want_ things. I’m not nice, Adora - I want you and I want you to want me, and I’ve cared about pretty much nothing else since I saw you at the shop last month.” Adora’s eyes are wide and Catra is so terrified she’s ruined everything - but she ruins most things, really, so why should this be any different?

Then Adora lets go of her wrists and brings both of her hands to Catra’s face; the touch is so gentle and borderline _reverent_ that Catra wants to _run away_ , but she’s blocked in by Adora’s body and those broad, calloused hands.

“Catra, I work on your car for free. I invited you to the beach pretty much just because I was hoping I’d see you in a bikini. From the moment you walked into the garage I would have been more than happy with anything you’d give me.” Adora swallows and Catra can’t help but flick her eyes down to track the movement. “But I got to know you, and it turned out I wanted more than I thought I was allowed to have. So I waited, because I didn’t know what _you_ wanted.”

“I was being so _obvious_ ,” Catra argues, letting her hands fall back to their place on Adora’s shoulders as she laughs in response.

“Okay, maybe to _you_ ,” Adora snorts. “You are seriously difficult to read.” Catra’s mouth falls open.

“I have been flirting with you for at least three weeks! I literally asked you what you were going to wear to the beach, as though it was a _deciding factor_ in my _attendance_.” She thinks for a second, then hisses: “And then I _got off thinking about it_.” Adora flushes, which is insane because she already knew this. And also Catra has her legs wrapped around her waist. 

“You flirted with Glimmer! And a lot of people flirt without it meaning anything,” Adora argues, and Catra can’t help but laugh a little at that because - yeah, some people do.

“Okay, well what I was saying to Sparkles was ‘back the fuck off’ and what I was saying to _you_ was ‘please kiss me, you fucking Amazon’-”

And Adora does.

The next few minutes go pretty much exactly how Catra had pictured them going. Or, rather, the next few minutes go one of the many ways she’s pictured them going before now. Adora carries her to the sofa like she weighs nothing, laying her down and covering Catra’s body entirely with her own. Catra would be embarrassed by the noises she makes as she presses upwards, searching out more contact, but that part of her brain is pretty much offline now.

“I need-” Catra isn’t sure how to even finish that sentence, but Adora is apparently a mind reader because there’s suddenly a muscled thigh between Catra’s legs and a mouth on hers, and she’s so keyed up she comes with a shuddering gasp less than a minute later. Adora kisses her through it, and when she pulls back she looks flushed, and not a little smug. Once again, Catra wishes that wasn’t such a good look on her.

“Four weeks of foreplay,” Catra says defensively, and Adora just laughs and kisses her some more, which isn’t exactly the worst response.

“Just taking the edge off,” Adora says lightly as she pulls back, and Catra laughs, pushing her in the chest with enough force (and the element of surprise on her side) that she tumbles off the sofa with a squeak.

“Shut up,” Catra says, grinning somewhat dumbly at thin air before rolling off the sofa to land on top of her; fortunately, Catra’s years on the gymnastics team mean she lands with her knees on either side of Adora’s waist. _Un_ fortunately, her recent orgasm means she’s a bit wobbly, and her arms immediately give out, causing her to end up with her face pressed into Adora’s neck.

Which actually isn’t all _that_ unfortunate.

The noises Adora makes when Catra sets her teeth to the juncture between her neck and shoulder are immensely gratifying, as is the high-pitched moan when Catra drags down the neck of Adora’s tank top to suck a totally unnecessary hickey into her chest. Adora’s hand comes up to cradle the back of Catra’s neck and she bucks her hips slightly at the next application of teeth to her sternum.

“Should I be worried by the degree to which you’re into biting me?” Adora says, annoyingly coherent for all that she’s breathless and shaking.

“Should I be worried by the degree to which you’re into me biting you?” Catra retorts, Adora’s answering laughter cut off by the strangled moan she makes as Catra briefly presses the palm of her hand to the warm denim between her thighs. She has some ground to make up, after all. With that in mind, Catra sits up and pulls off her t-shirt, enjoying the way the action makes Adora’s face flush more fully, her eyes wandering up Catra’s body. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, princess,” Catra reminds her, though her voice falters slightly when Adora’s hands begin smoothing up her sides.

“Yeah, but…” Adora trails off as she carefully traces the outline of the black lace covering Catra’s breasts, looking kind of awed; it’s nothing, really - barely a touch - but Catra almost stops breathing. “I was really trying not to look too hard. And it’s not like I could _touch_ you like this.” Catra forces herself to breathe, leaning forward to run her nose from the base of Adora’s throat all the way up to her ear.

“Oh, Adora,” she whispers, letting her own hands creep underneath Adora’s tank top, her nails grazing the hard muscle she finds there with relish, “you could abso _lutely_ have touched me like this.” Adora whines a little at that, and Catra pulls back only for long enough to shove that fantasy-inducing tank top over Adora’s head before she’s leaning back in to kiss her again.

“I assume you have a, um - _oh god_ \- a bedroom?” Adora manages to gasp out as Catra migrates from her mouth, to her neck, to her stomach.

“You know, I’m not sure I remember,” Catra says thoughtfully, before yanking down the waistband of Adora’s jeans just enough that she can sink her teeth into a newly exposed hip bone. The effect is instantaneous; Adora yells something incoherent that sounds _suspiciously_ like a curse word, her hips lifting off the floor without warning. Catra looks up to see that her head is thrown back, the muscles of her stomach taut and her arms thrown over her face.

Huh.

“Touched a nerve?” Catra asks softly. The only reply she gets is a whimper, which... Yeah, she can definitely work with that. It only takes a moment to unbutton Adora’s jeans and pull them down to around mid-thigh; they don’t need to come off just yet, since she’s taking her time. Catra presses an open mouthed kiss to Adora’s abdomen and is rewarded with a noticeable tensing of the muscles there, as well as a distant hiccuping whine. “I think-” she says quietly, sinking in her teeth and enjoying the stuttering of Adora’s breath- “you need-” another bite, this time to the meat of her thigh- “to _relax_.”

When she bites down on the unmarred skin of Adora’s other hip bone, Catra has a hand curled around the top of one of her thighs, and she presses back against the full body reaction elicited by the pressure of her teeth. The breathy, broken _“fuck”_ this drags from Adora’s mouth is just about the filthiest thing Catra’s ever heard; she wants to record it and use it as her ringtone.

“Easy, princess,” she drawls, crawling up Adora’s body to gently pull her arms away from her face. Adora looks absolutely wrecked, her bottom lip an almost angry red where she’s repeatedly bitten down; the flush on her cheekbones looks semi-permanent by this point, and Catra’s pulse jumps when her eyes stray to the bruises already blooming on Adora’s chest and neck.

Catra wants to _ruin_ her. 

“Hey, Adora,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below her ear. Adora’s hands come up to Catra’s back, and the shaking, stuttering trail of fingertips up and down her spine has her arching into the contact, eyes closing briefly at the sensation.

“Hey, Catra.” There’s a dreamlike, syrup-slow quality to Adora’s voice, and when Catra opens her eyes again, the other woman is smiling stupidly up at her. It makes Catra’s heart hurt just a little bit. It’s good though.

“I just remembered,” Catra says with a slow, teasing grin. “I _totally_ have a bedroom.” Adora’s nerdy laugh is still as dumb and amazing in the heated air of Catra’s sparsely furnished living room as it is everywhere else.

* * *

They get to the bedroom and even though Catra has indeed had the edge taken off, there’s still a moment when Adora pulls off her sports bra that she has to close her eyes for a second. She reminds herself that they’re just boobs - she even _has_ a pair - and she is not going to come in her underwear (again) just because these (very nice) boobs belong to someone attractive.

“Hey,” Adora says, and okay - maybe Catra had closed her eyes for more than a second or two because Adora’s right in front of her now, fingers gently tilting up her chin so she can press a painfully tender kiss to her mouth; Catra’s hands go automatically to Adora’s hips before the other woman pulls back, a soft smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Your turn?” Catra nods and presses herself a little closer to the heat of Adora’s body for another kiss; this is correctly interpreted and a moment later she feels hands on her back, then the slight release of pressure that tells her the clasp of her bra has been successfully undone. Go Adora.

“A total pro,” Catra teases - and she’s maybe a little dizzy with the fact that this ridiculous woman has forced her to partake in (and enjoy) friendly banter and now _teasing_ in the _bedroom_ \- and Adora snorts. It isn’t even a turn-off at this point. It actually might be the opposite.

“I’m a mechanic, you know,” she says, nodding solemnly. The effect is spoiled by the obvious smirk she’s trying to hold back. “Good with my _hands_.” Adora begins to pull said hands away from Catra’s back but Catra grabs her wrists and growls.

“If you do jazz hands, I swear to _god_ I will throw you out of this apartment without your clothes.”

“As if you’d want anyone else to see me naked,” Adora replies derisively - and accurately; she doesn’t deny the intention to do jazz hands though. Because she’s an idiot. Catra rolls her eyes but releases her wrists, and Adora finishes the job of removing Catra’s bra, fingers skimming the sides of her breasts as she lets the fabric drop to the floor. Catra shivers and reaches up so she can pull Adora back into a kiss that very quickly has them both a little out of breath.

They get to the bed eventually, both of them managing to get out of their remaining clothes on the way, and Catra climbs onto Adora’s lap the second her ass hits the mattress. They’re both still sitting up, Adora’s hands automatically coming to rest on Catra’s waist; they breathe there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, and something warm settles in Catra’s chest. She doesn’t know what it is yet, but it feels like something.

(She suspects she knows what that something is.

She’s trying not to look directly at the feeling.)

“Am I allowed to tell you what you are yet?” Adora asks softly, and Catra sucks in a breath. When she replies, it’s with a studied and incredibly unconvincing nonchalance.

“I will _allow you_ to describe me for like… one minute.”

“So benevolent,” Adora says warmly.

“Time’s a-wastin’, princess.” And really, Catra’s trying to sound stern or in control - something other than buttery soft - but her whole body feels like soup. Adora moves one of her hands to tuck a strand of hair behind Catra’s ear; an exercise in futility, really, and Catra would tell her that but… soup.

“You’re gorgeous.” A terrible start really, Catra thinks, melting just a little bit more into soupy oblivion. Just awful. “Do you have any idea how hot you are? Seriously - your eyes are just… Amazing. I don’t usually walk into stuff, you know - that’s all you.” Terrible. Catra definitely isn’t smiling goofily. “You’re funny, and you try so hard, and you make my knees feel like jelly.” Even with her eyes closed, Catra can see Adora’s smile, wide and bright; it’s practically burning through her eyelids.

“Time’s up, hotshot,” Catra whispers, but it sounds about as liquid as she feels.

“But I wasn’t done,” Adora objects, running her hands up and down Catra’s sides and pulling her closer with a snorting laugh. “I hadn’t started on your _rockin’ bod_.” Catra can feel Adora doing a dumb eyebrow wiggle where their foreheads are still touching, and she loses her battle against the laugh bubbling up in her throat.

“You’re just saying that because I’m naked in your lap,” she murmurs, still laughing, opening her eyes so she can look at the complete dumbass she has feelings for. Still there. Still distractingly beautiful. Apparently _not_ in a zip code so different from her own.

“It helps,” Adora admits, and then Catra’s _shrieking_ as she’s lifted and thrown back onto the bed, Adora following a split-second later with a cackle. “Oh my god, what was _that?_ You sounded like a _mouse_.”

“If you tell anyone about the noise I just made, I will _skin you_ and wear you like a _coat_ ,” Catra hisses, wrapping her legs around Adora’s waist where she’s hovering above her, mirroring the action with her arms around Adora’s neck. The blonde raises her eyebrows.

“Is it wrong that your threats just turn me on now?”

“Yes. I’m disgusted. Now kiss me some more. Being relentlessly complimented turns _me_ on, apparently.”

Ten minutes later and Catra is quite possibly the closest she will ever get to heaven. If it does exist, which she doubts, she’s not sure she’s going there; if she _did_ manage to snag a ticket, she still isn’t convinced it would quite match up to the noises Adora makes as Catra kisses her way down her body and finally - _finally_ \- makes good on her original invitation.

“You’ve - oh _god_ \- done this before,” Adora gasps, and she sounds so hilariously torn between pissed off and sex drunk that Catra wants to laugh. Instead she just makes very intense eye contact and raises her eyebrows while sucking on Adora’s clit, which seems to do the trick of making Adora forget what she was talking about for at least a few minutes.

A little while later, Adora has the presence of mind to ask for “fingers, now, please” and “more, oh _fuck_ ” but her vocabulary is mostly limited to incoherent noises. Catra tries every trick she knows, cataloguing Adora’s responses and chasing every moan and broken curse that falls from her mouth. The bed is an absolute mess, Adora so far gone that Catra’s chin and wrist are soaked, but every time Adora gets close she slows down; Adora isn’t _begging_ yet.

When it finally happens, it’s easy enough to give her what she wants. Adora’s whispered “Catra, please, I can’t—” is practically a sob. She’s probably had enough.

Catra has two fingers crooked inside her and the flat of her tongue pressed to Adora’s clit when she finally lets her tip over the edge, and the wail that rips from Adora’s throat as she arches up is definitely going to get Catra a noise complaint. Probably in letter form. She’s going to fucking frame it.

Adora whimpers a little when Catra slips her fingers out, but she seems pleased enough when Catra crawls back up the bed to lie down next to her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she goes. Adora turns over immediately to sling an arm over her waist and presses her face into Catra’s neck with a contented hum.

“Just gimme a minute,” she slurs, and Catra can’t stop grinning because _she did that_. Adora is a warm, comforting, entirely boneless weight against her; she’s not at all surprised, really, when they both fall asleep between one breath and the next.

* * *

When Catra comes to - slowly and not without a fight - it’s dark outside, and there’s someone tracing lazy patterns on her stomach; presumably Adora. _Hopefully_ Adora. Otherwise she has some questions.

“Hey, ‘dora. S’time?” she asks groggily, stretching just a little and enjoying the slightly increased pressure of Adora’s movements now she knows Catra’s awake.

“Around eleven,” she whispers back, letting her hand trail a little bit lower, calloused fingertips dancing across Catra’s abdomen and tracing the creases of her thighs. Lazy, liquid heat starts to pool in Catra’s stomach and she hums appreciatively, eyes closed, as Adora’s movements become a little more purposeful. She sucks in a breath when she feels a mouth on her shoulder, then her collar bone, then her breast; she arches her back encouragingly when she feels a tongue on her nipple, sliding her hands into Adora’s hair to keep her in that spot. A whine begins to build in the back of Catra’s throat as Adora adds just a hint of teeth, and she feels the hand that had been occupied with drawing patterns making its way between her legs. She spreads them obligingly and she would be embarrassed by the ease with which Adora’s fingers slide through the wetness there but… this has been a lot. Adora pulls her mouth away for a moment and Catra makes a throaty noise of disapproval.

“What do you want?” Adora asks, voice hushed in the darkness and heat of the room; her fingers continue to move, sliding over Catra’s clit with a barely-there pressure that has her squirming.

“ _Anything,_ ” Catra says hoarsely. Maybe it’s the thin note of desperation in her voice that has Adora pressing harder, moving with intent, but it only takes a few seconds before Catra’s biting back moans and urgently pushing back against the hand between her legs. Adora’s propped up next to her, mouth back where it fucking _belongs_ , in Catra’s opinion, and her fingers are steady and practised as they move away from Catra’s clit to slide inside her. Catra isn’t proud of the noise she makes.

It doesn’t take long for her to come undone after that. She’s so wet now that the noise of Adora’s fingers moving inside her is almost _lewd_ , and it feeds into the building pressure at the base of her spine; every roll of her hips sends the spring coiling tighter until she’s clawing at Adora’s back, her shoulders, her arms, just needing something to hold onto.

“Fuck, _fuck_ \- don’t stop, I’ll, I’ll - _Adora, I’ll kill you_ ,” she whines, about as threatening as a kitten, and then the heel of Adora’s palm presses _just_ _so_ against her clit and Catra’s gone. She throws her head back with a long, low groan, still grinding down against Adora’s hand, riding out the sharp, hot waves of pleasure brought on by each movement of her hips. Adora coaxes her through it, fingers slowing but not stopping completely when Catra pushes weakly at her bicep.

“But you said you’d kill me,” Adora says with faux innocence, and Catra has only seconds to wonder what the fuck she’s gotten herself into before Adora’s face is between her legs.

And really, she thinks as she cries out, her hands immediately tangling in Adora’s hair... there are worse problems to have.

* * *

Adora looks good from every angle; Catra already knows this. She’s spent a lot of time checking them all out - the angles, that is. But she thinks she might have a new favourite - Adora in a clean pair of Catra’s underwear, an indecently short robe thrown over the top; she’s standing at the stove and making them eggs. Her hair is still wet from the shower, pulled haphazardly into a sloppy ponytail, and there’s a noticeable cluster of crescent moon shaped indentations on the back of her neck. (Catra’s not sorry.) It’s sunny out, but soft, and the slatted blinds on the kitchen windows cast a hazy pattern across the linoleum; the slashes of light continue up those legs Catra finds so distracting, and she spots a hickey that’s only just visible on the inside of Adora’s thigh. She doesn’t remember doing that. She definitely did it though. She knows her own teeth marks.

Catra has been entrusted with the toast, but she hasn’t put it in the toaster yet because she can’t stop looking at Adora. The woman in question turns to her with a smile and points at the pan.

“Eggs! As promised. I see you’re not holding up your end of the bargain though,” she teases, pointing at the plainly un-toasted bread in Catra’s hands.

“I love you.”

Time stops, then.

Adora is staring at her, and Catra would - were she able - be staring at herself too. She said that, after all. It’s 9 in the morning, Catra’s lost count of how many orgasms she’s had in the past 24 hours, and she just told Adora she loves her. She should probably take it back.

The main problem is, of course, that she means it. She loves Adora so fiercely, already, that the idea of not seeing her every day makes her shake; she wants to fuck her senseless, sleep next to her every night, hold her hand in public. It feels simultaneously stifling and _right_. Of course she loves Adora. Who in their right mind _wouldn’t_ love her?

Time starts again with Adora calmly turning off the heat under the eggs and moving the pan to the back of the stove. She leans one hip against the counter and crosses her arms, still just _staring_ at Catra. It feels like hours until she speaks, but it’s probably a few minutes. Seconds. Whatever.

“You love me?” Catra could say any number of things to that: ‘no’ or ‘I’m just orgasm drunk’ or ‘of course not you moron, I just want you for your body’. The thing is, none of those responses would be particularly honest. Even though her body is, admittedly, very nice.

Adora makes her want to be better.

So Catra just nods.

The smile that creeps onto Adora’s face is so wide and joyful, Catra almost wants to look around and see who else is here. _That_ smile can’t be for her; her and that accidentally heartfelt, dumb confession. _That_ smile is for someone nice, who doesn’t have an illegal, tax-dodging hobby and so much childhood trauma she’s almost hunched under the weight of it.

“I love you too,” Adora says, like it’s simple. Like this is easy, and Catra gets to have this - not just for one night, but for as long as she wants it.

“That’s a very bad idea,” Catra says shakily, putting the bread in the toaster just for something to do with her hands. She wants Adora more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, but Adora’s… good. Nice. Kind. Other positive descriptions that nobody has ever really attributed to Catra.

“So was going for orgasm number five after your downstairs neighbours posted that angry note under the front door, but that didn’t stop us,” Adora shrugs, walking over to Catra to slip those strong, capable arms around her waist. Ah, so it was five orgasms then. “And arguably, number six was a truly terrible idea, since you nearly slipped and died in the shower.” Six then. Catra realises her arms have come up to wind around Adora’s neck, which she did not give them permission to do.

“You caught me,” Catra argues, and Adora laughs, squeezing her waist a little tighter.

“Yeah, I caught you.”

* * *

“This is a terrible idea,” Glimmer says, supportive as ever in a pair of pale pink chinos and a scowl that smacks of imminent rainstorms. Catra isn’t sure how many pairs of chinos this woman has; they could be unlimited. Just a fucking Narnia-like wardrobe full of pastel monstrosities.

“To be fair,” Catra says in response, since Adora is gaping uselessly next to her, “that’s what I said too.” Glimmer makes a noise of deep suspicion, which she is right to do, since Catra continues. “But I figured the mindblowing sex and the fact that we apparently love each other was a good enough reason to give it a shot.” 

This doesn’t necessarily shut Glimmer up, but it does leave her incapable of coherent speech for a while, which is almost the same thing. Bow coaches her through some breathing exercises while giving them a pleased thumbs-up. Adora crosses her arms where she’s leaning against some battered vehicle or other on the shop floor, raising her eyebrows at Catra.

“Should I not have mentioned the sex? Does Sparkles know what sex _is_?” Catra mutters archly under her breath, while Adora tries to look stern.

“You’re _mean_ ,” she says, but she’s grinning just a little bit, so Catra reckons she’s off the hook. She smirks back.

“What? It’s not like I _described_ anything,” she purrs, stepping a little closer and watching with abject delight as Adora’s pupils dilate slightly. If this weekend didn’t get it out of her system, she’s hoping nothing ever will. “I didn’t tell her about that thing you can do with your tongue, or how much you like it when I bite you _here_ -” Catra’s close enough that she can touch Adora now, and she does, pressing her thumb firmly into Adora’s hip bone, where she knows there’s a purple mark in the shape of her mouth. Adora bites her lip against a groan and closes her eyes.

“Urgh, can both of you just _go_? Adora, you’re having today as holiday - I hate you _both_.” Glimmer’s voice is high-pitched and she’s covering her eyes with her hands; Bow just shrugs and beams at them, which is nice, if a little weird. Catra grins, holding out a hand to Adora.

“Let’s split before Glitter’s head explodes, princess.” Adora takes her hand and allows herself to be pulled out of Moonstone without complaint, linking their hands together properly when they get to the street outside.

“You wanna see my apartment?” she asks brightly, immediately over the mental trauma Catra just purposefully gave her best friend. Catra smiles; the feeling is becoming alarmingly familiar.

“That depends - do you have a bedroom?” she quips, letting Adora’s answering laughter wash over her.

“You know,” Adora says slyly, stopping them in the street so she can pull Catra flush against her. “I’m not sure I remember.” Catra kisses her then, even though they’re both laughing, because she can’t help it; because Adora is there, and she’s glowing, and she makes Catra _better_.

Perfuma’s going to have a fucking field day with this one. She’s probably going to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> BOY HOWDIE do I have some additional notes for you. First of all, thanks Tintagel for reading this before posting; all errors are now your fault. PSYCH. Secondly, loads of stuff we head-cannoned didn’t fit in here so try THESE babies on for size:
> 
> \- Glimmer inherited the auto shop when her dad was declared MIA;  
> \- Angella wanted her to go into higher education but she’s like, insanely good at running the garage;  
> \- Seahawk and Mermista have to claim on their insurance on the food truck like twice a year. He likes to flambé everything. Their insurance representative has a whole filing cabinet just for them, and it isn’t full yet but he knows it will be one day.  
> \- Catra was forced to do pretty much every extracurricular going when she was younger, because SW wanted her to be an overachiever. Gymnastics, Modern Foreign Languages, Latin... She liked gymnastics but only because it made it easier to hide from the police.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! This series meant a lot to me, as I’m sure it did to so many gay women, and this stupid thing took me way too long to write but I hope it was worth it. It is, at the very least, incredibly gay.
> 
> Points to anyone who catches the multiple dumb as heck references peppered throughout this thing. Gotta catch ‘em all.


End file.
